


A Series of Left Turns

by ScribbleSibyl



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged Up, Highschool AU, Kyman - Freeform, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, yup another highschool au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 95,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribbleSibyl/pseuds/ScribbleSibyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle, now 17 and preparing to be a responsible adult, is drowning in the stress of his mundane life. Until Cartman gets an idea. Kyle POV. Heavy swearing and smut later on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At this point in time, Thanksgiving Break has just ended. I never thought in a million years that I'd say I was thankful to go back to school. Even though people think I'm a nerd who likes school, I really don't. The only reason I study and do everything on time is because I feel comfortable getting shit done. I still like breaks.

I just didn’t like this one.

I drag my feet across the sidewalk, in no particular hurry to get to the bus stop. I have some time to kill, some time to stay in my own thoughts. Up until the point that I reach my best friend Stan. He catches my line of sight and I can't help but take in a breath. Because I know what he's gonna ask me.

"Morning Kyle," Stan greets me, and I can tell he's getting ready to prompt me. I feign a smile in spite of the conversation that I know is coming.

"Hey," I say, intentionally adding friendliness to my voice. There's a cold breeze in the air that makes me shove my hands into my pockets. Now I'm just waiting for the question.

After some hesitation he gets it out. "So, how'd meeting that girl go?"

We've had this conversation before. I always say the same thing. "She was okay."

Ever since my birthday my Mom's been playing matchmaker for me, introducing me to girls she thinks I'll like. Says now that I'm seventeen I should be interested in relationships; that it's healthy for guys to look at girls. And I wish I had the heart to tell her that I'm really not that interested in looking.

It's still pretty early and the other guys aren't here yet. For now it's just me and Stan. I watch him smile at me, playfully, but there's some concern in his eyes too.

"You gotta give one of them a chance sometime." Stan tells me. I sigh as I reluctantly meet his eyes.

"I know." I tell him. I keep it short because I really don't want the fuss anymore. I've had this conversation before. Kyle, your standards are too high. Kyle you're just giving up on her too soon. Kyle, don't you want a girlfriend?

It's not that I don't want a girlfriend. I do. It's not like I don't like people. I'm seventeen, so of course I've fallen in love before. It just doesn't work the way other people seem to get it to work. We have to... click. And I've told Stan this before.

At this point we're just repeating the conversation because there's nothing really new happening.

"I could ask Lesley to give you some numbers. Her friends are pretty cool." Stan decides to break the silence. I look at him worriedly, and he shrugs. "C'mon, maybe you just need a bigger pool to choose from. Bigger than... your Mom's taste in chicks."

I purse my lips. From Stan's reaction I can tell I'm pulling off this disapproving look pretty well. He seems to get the message. I release a soft sigh. "I don't wanna bother Lesley with that."

It's funny that Stan says that I have high standards. Lesley's been with Stan for 6 months and she's still impossible to please. After all the stress Stan puts himself through just to keep up with her, the last thing I wanna do is make Stan look like he's asking for favors from her.  
Besides. I don't need a love life. I'm doing fine focusing on myself.

After a small neutral silence I start to hear something in the distance, a familiar voice sounding irritatingly happy. The sound of the snow crunching under his footsteps gets progressively louder, and I look up to see the other two of my friends approaching the bus stop. Our good friend Kenny, and.. Eric fucking Cartman.

When the fat brunet reaches his spot next to me he immediately meets my gaze with a contented smile on his face. "Oh, look who's all ready to go back to school," He chuckles. "Don't you ever get tired of being a nerd?"

"I'm not a nerd just because I wake up earlier than your lazy fat ass." I retort with a frown. "Besides you're the one walking to the bus stop singing. You happy to be back?"  
After a short pause, Cartman scoffs. "I just have a good song in my head. I couldn't give any less of a shit about school."

I let out a defiant huff with a roll of my eyes. Despite my unamused demeanor his presence is actually comforting in a weird way. I haven't seen the fatass in 2 weeks -- he left to stay with his extended family the whole break. And despite how much it makes my blood fucking boil, I'd take his sass any day of the week over having to endure any more girlfriend recommendations from my Mom.

As we're sitting at the bus stop Cartman's eager to fill the silence with mindless chatter, talking on and on about god knows what. I now vaguely remember that Kenny is standing next to him. Kenny, the silent blonde boy. Sometimes he does speak up but he has these random spans of time where he's practically mute and doesn't pay attention to us at all.

I kinda worry about him. He hangs out with Cartman a lot. I hope all Cartman's senseless talking hasn't made him brain dead.

The bus rolls up to our stop and the more I think about it the more I wonder about Cartman's demeanor. He was all singing and happy. That's exactly how he acts when he's up to something.

But it's a little odd this time. Whenever he's got a plan he can't shut up about it. He usually tries to incorporate the three of us into it. But nothing this time. Weird. Then again, he hasn't done anything big since middle school. So maybe he does just... have a tune in his head.

It's safer to tell myself that anyway. If I think too much about it, the curiosity's gonna torment me.  
On the bus Cartman takes a seat next to Butters, Kenny next to Craig. I'm asked by Stan to sit somewhere else besides next to him, because he's inviting Lesley to sit next to him. So I find a seat somewhere else. Weirdly enough, it's next to Wendy.

I don't say anything to her. Despite us being decent friends, the fact that I'm sitting next to her because Stan wanted to sit next to Lesley kind of lodges this giant wall of awkward between me and Stan's ex girlfriend. But she gives me this small knowing smile, and I greet her with one too.  
It really seemed like just last year Stan was holding Wendy's hand and writing her corny songs. But it's actually been a couple years since those days. It's just one of the little things that's actually managed to change.

That's how it seems to work.. in my life at least. If change happens, it's little by little. It's like a car on autopilot. It doesn't take any sharp turns, but doesn't stay completely straight either. Instead it just slowly veers to the left, inch by inch, moving so slow that you can't even see it. Subtle motions indicating a change that you'd only notice if you were feeling for it. It's not until there's a very visible difference that you see the changes.

It's a car ride. And nobody's holding the wheel.

...

I go through my monday as normal, doing my best to block out this thought that's been hanging over my head; the thought that my mother will pester me about looking for a girl as soon as I get home. It's lunch time now, and I've taken precautions to avoid awkward silences with Stan and Kenny. Unfortunately my lack of a relationship since the 6th grade has been on both my parents' and my friends' minds. Now because I needed an excuse to avoid conversation, I end up in the bathroom.

There's not really a reason for me to be here but I lean over the sink and let the water run, idly rinsing my hands. There's another person in the stalls, but I pay him no mind. I'm still kind of in my own mind right now, not really observant of much. It seems like it's been that way the whole day so far.

As I'm sitting there with my hands under the sink, I stare at my reflection. I see a 5'7'', green eyed jewish teenage guy with red curly hair. And he looks troubled. I automatically change my expression, pursing my lips and forcing a blank one. I tilt my head in the mirror to sort of examine my looks. I'd say I'm pretty decent looking. Inviting. When I'm not frowning like this, at least. The guy next to me washes his hands too as I adjust myself, practicing a smile.

"Whoa, someone's got an ego."

Oh god. I do a double take and take a step away from the sink, finding Cartman next to me with a judgemental grin on his face. My smile immediately drops and I shove my hands into my pockets. Jesus, he caught me looking in the mirror and now he thinks I was checking myself out.

"Ego my ass -- I was making sure my face was clear." I say in defense. It's better than telling him I was worried about looking too worried. As he shuts off the sink, he meets my eyes. He's got this observant look on his face, I notice.

"Oh I see," He chuckles, "Gotta look good for the ladies, right?" He gives me this look that is sort of accusatory, as if he's trying to imply something right now.

"Fuck off," I growl dismissively, turning away to start yanking paper towels out of the dispenser. I know he hasn't left yet, but I'm still waiting for him to do so. But hell, my luck is never that fucking good.

He always sticks around. Sticks around and just makes fucking small talk with me. Except it isn't small talk at all. Because when he does this, he speaks a lot more through implication and body language than he does with actual fucking words.

"What's that like, anyway? Just being hand delivered possible dates from your parents?" Cartman asks, leaning against the sink. I'm trying to read his tone right now, but it seems more playful than anything else. As if he's curious and also entertained... like it was a proposition.

"It's not as great as you think it is." I say, furrowing my eyebrows.

"I didn't say I thought it was." He says as a matter of factly.

...It's obvious he's asking me to answer it objectively. Even though I know he's implying something. I know he doesn't actually care about my answer. But fine.

"It's annoying." I grumble, drying my hands off and tossing the paper towel into the garbage bin. "There's nothing worse than that pressure. They're just sitting there throwing girls at me until one sticks! Why do they think I'd want to deal with that?"  
My gaze goes to Cartman but I can't read the expression on his face. He's just listening, devoid of reaction. I sigh.

"The worst part is when they actually like me. It's so fucking annoying to shake off a girl who wants to be with you without looking like an asshole. It's like you're an ass if you do respond and you're an ass if you don't. It's such a shitty position to be in." Fuck, I can't believe I'm actually venting to him about this. It feels so natural with Stan, but with Cartman? There's nothing more foreign. But in a way it feels better to release it, because he doesn't give a shit whether or not I end up with a girl. He's not "worried" about me.

I'm taken a little out of my thoughts when I hear him snicker at me. "Wow, you are such a douche."

That snicker was enough to piss me off, but then to say that. This prick. "How the hell am I a douche?" I demand, raising my voice in a slight growl.

"Because, douche, your biggest fuckin problem is that people like you."

I roll my eyes. "Oh god. Please."

"Oh no! Somebody likes me and I don't like them back! How uncomfortable for me!" He mocks me in a high voice.

"Fuck you! It's fucking bullshit if you actually care about people's feelings!" I insist, annoyed at his shitty mockery of me.

"Oh yeah. It must be sooo hard to deal with people liking you.” Cartman says in the most overly sarcastic tone I've ever heard. “That's such bullshit, Kahl."

"Just because you wanna be liked by someone so badly doesn't mean it doesn't suck for me!" Fuck, I worded that poorly, but fuck it, I'm mad and it's Cartman. We say shit like this all the time.  
The way he glowers at me tells me I struck a nerve. Though I don't really like doing that with anyone, he deserved it so I'm finding it hard to care.

"I bet you're just pissed because you don't want to pay for dates, aren't you, you rich ungrateful jew?!"

"Oh shut up! You can't even pull that card anymore! Buck probably gives you like 200 dollars for your allowance!" I shoot back at him. He knows that's true. Last year Cartman's mom married Buck Reynolds, a well off engineer. And I know damn well that Cartman probably uses the shit out of that income for whatever he wants. "How are you gonna call me ungrateful?! Your Mom just got back on her feet and you didn't even show up to her wedding!"  
Me and Cartman have known each other for years. We've argued over anything and everything. And we aren't exactly afraid to hit low. But this made Cartman react so differently, to anything else I've ever said. I can't exactly say how, because it only happened for a glimpse. But I definitely saw something flash in his eyes.

He makes an agitated growl before closing the distance between us, his shoulders tight and fists clenched. He's obviously pissed, but it's not like he's gonna anything except try to intimidate me. He doesn't stop moving. Gets right up in my face, and I can feel all the blood rushing hot through my veins.

I stagger backward, almost tripping over my feet. He shouts a retort at me, but I don't really make out the words. I just hear it. But more importantly, how is he towering over me like that?!  
...Shit... I didn't really notice till now... he hit a growth spurt, didn't he? What the fuck, two weeks ago he was the same height as me and now...

...Now, I have my back against the bathroom wall, and Cartman's silent. In fact, he looks a little surprised. ...Wait... I just... no. Tell me I didn't just back away from him. ... Shit.

I've always made a point to not back away, to give Cartman's intimidation right back to him. But I gave him ground just now. Shit. Shit. I didn't stand my ground -- and Cartman definitely noticed that. Why the fuck else would he suddenly stop the argument?

I have to say something. It won't be so weird if I say something right now. ... What the fuck do I say? I was just very obviously startled by his change in height and now I look like a fucking idiot! How do you recover from something like that?!

The heat of embarrassment is threatening to redden my face, and I'm not about to let it. I make a point of glaring at him, crossing my arms. I'm insistent on making eye contact now. Because I'm not intimidated by him.

"It wasn't any of your business in the first place." I tell him sternly, before starting to walk out. My eyes don't leave him as I pass by him. And I make sure to not seem like I'm rushing out.  
But by the time I'm out of the bathroom I sigh in relief. And I couldn't have been out sooner. Jesus christ. How fucking embarrassing, to be caught off guard like that... And for him to think he actually legitimately scared me. Fuck no. It's just alarming to see that drastic of a change. Like, my forehead only reached the height of his nose. Of course that difference in height is gonna make me think, what? When did that happen?!

... But of course he's not gonna see it that way. That son of a bitch.. He's definitely gonna use that to make my life harder from now on. ...  
That's just fucking great.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm now two days into school since Thanksgiving Break ended. After that lapse in judgement with Cartman I can't stop thinking about how smug he's probably going to be from now on. Well, he didn't exactly capitalize it any time during the day yesterday. After lunch we had Speech together and he acted pretty normal. And after school he didn't come with us to the arcade. He went straight home. They probably had another family night or something.

 

Yeah... that apparently happens in the Cartman household now. Quality time with the family. Cartman seemed to act a little more tame ever since Buck stepped into the picture. That man must be doing something very right, considering Cartman never managed to kick him out. Hell, he even managed to get Liane to settle down. I never thought I'd see the day that the notorious Liane Cartman officially declared herself tied to one man, but.. it happened.

 

He definitely seems to be able to keep Cartman under control. Which is overall an awesome thing. Even though he still has his snarky fucking attitude. That was obvious because of his bullshit yesterday. Well... at least he isn't up my ass about 'cowering' away from him, so it's not so bad...

 

One less thing to worry about.

 

I'm in my 2nd period now. English class with Mr. Nielsen. The great thing about Nielsen is he gives us easy stuff when we come back from break. Gives me a moment to breathe. And God do I need that lately.

 

The questions on our warm up are mindless for me. I lean my hand on my cheek, scribbling in the answers without thinking about it much. Nielsen's at his computer typing and everyone in the class has fallen into some quiet banter. I finish my warm up a little hastily, dropping my pencil and slumping down in my desk.

 

The house has been annoying lately. It's nice to just let my brain go on autopilot, even if it's just 10 more minutes. Neither Stan, Kenny, nor Cartman is in this class with me. And it's kind of nice to have that mental silence sometimes. Since I have no one to talk to I sit back and sigh, content with listening to the sounds of people talking amongst their friends mingle together.

 

...

 

"Stan's kinda boring."

 

...

 

For some reason I can always seem to catch the name of my friends, even in the midst of seven other conversations going on. I sit up, my eyes immediately looking to the voice that said that. And for whatever reason, I'm not at all surprised at who says it. It's Lesley, Stan's current girlfriend.

 

I'm not quite sure how Lesley met Stan. But considering she's the photographer for the school paper, they probably met when she was doing a story on the football team. I vividly remember Stan talking to me about how much he wanted to get with Lesley Summers. The months where Stan spaced out and just thought of songs to write her were the most annoying to sit through. He'd try all this shit he could to impress her. And it took all of sophomore year for it to even start paying off.

 

"He's such a suck up, and he's so transparent. He always wants to make sure I understand his 'intentions' and whatever. It's kinda like... can you just be interesting for a second?" Lesley giggles to her group of friends. They all seem to agree with her and laugh amongst themselves, continuing to make jokes about Stan.

 

Okay, so... I'm using the phrase 'paying off' really loosely.

I think it was obvious to most of everyone that Stan getting with Lesley was gonna be a losing battle. But Stan's persistent. I just hope he's not wasting his energy with this one.

 

"How long do you think it's gonna last?"

 

I was still focusing on listening to Lesley's conversation, so it actually took me a moment to realize that I was being asked a question. One I was practically thinking myself. I turn to the seat beside me to find Wendy sitting there, giving me a concerned look.

 

"Whaddaya mean?" I ask.

 

She gives me a leveled stare, lowering her eyebrows in slight impatience. "You know."

 

Yeah. She probably was listening to that conversation too.

 

"Lesley's unpredictable." I say shrugging.

 

"That's exactly why she won't stay with Stan." Wendy responds.

 

I stagger a little at that. Because I was thinking something along those lines. But... "You can't say that for sure." She purses her lips at me, brow pinching in irritation. I let out a soft sigh. I should've known this would be rough for her too. It's been a while since Stan was with Wendy, but Stan never showed this much admiration for any other girl except Wendy. His admiration with Lesley seems to rival his admiration for Wendy.  "How are you now, anyway?"

I can see Wendy's expression turn blank as she looks away. "Good." She uses this half-hearted tone that's not really trying that hard to convince me. As in, there's an effort, but it's the most minimal effort she could've possibly put in. I don't really keep up with her relationships. But if I had to guess, she's not with anyone right now.

 

There was something really important that Stan taught me when we were little. And it was around the time he first broke up with Wendy. Relationship problems are something you can't help with. Even if you're their best friend. You can't take any of their pain away. So stay the fuck out of it. Don't get me wrong, as a friend I care deeply for both Wendy and Stan. But holy shit, I dodged a bullet staying out of their relationship messes. So, I'm just gonna stick with the method that works.

 

For that reason I neglect to tell Stan about Lesley's comments during lunch period. Stan being depressed always seems to bring me down too, and I don't feel like killing his happy mood. And actually he's kinda lucky I'm not petty. The whole lunch period I had to listen to Stan and Kenny rip on me for not having a girlfriend. Making jokes about me being gay. Stuff like that. Really, I was lucky Cartman was sitting with some other friend group at the time. He would've made the mockery a lot worse. And if I had half an irrational mind I would've just told Stan about what Lesley said out of spite.

 

But I'm not like that. ....Not with Stan.

 

My mind flashes to yesterday at lunch time. I might've made it a little too personal. That look in Cartman's eyes, for that split second. It looked like he was hurt. ...But maybe I was just imagining things. After all. Why would he be pissed about me mentioning how ungrateful he is? It's true, and he's never given a fuck about it before.

 

..

 

I'm able to distract myself through the passing period with needless thoughts, wondering if I should apologize for that. But I shoot this question down in my mind each time. Because I already know he got satisfaction out of the way he was able to tower over me and back me into a wall.

 

Fuck!

 

No. I don't want to think about that. That didn't happen. Shit, just thinking about it makes my blood run cold all over again. Get that shit out of my head, for fuck’s sake!

 

"Kyle? Kyle..?"

 

It shouldn't have happened. God, if I could only take back those few seconds! It would've gone so differently. Fuck, I might've just unintentionally screwed up my entire week. Why did I do that?!

 

"Kyle Broflovski?"

 

It's at this point I realize that I've been sitting in Speech class, completely zoned out. I shake myself out of it and Mrs. Wurt is standing in front of me with folded arms, staring impatiently.

But it's not just her staring. Pretty much the entire class has stopped to watch my spectacle of zoning out. God dammit... really? I sit up straight, reluctantly meeting Mrs. Wurt's unimpressed gaze.

 

"Yes, Mrs. Wurt." I acknowledge her simply, trying to not look like the goddamn idiot I feel like right now. It doesn't help that Cartman's in this class and I can hear him snickering to himself.

"Oh, you're back," Mrs. Wurt chides, unfolding her arms just to place her hands on her hips. "Did you hear anything I just said? At all?"

 

I'm silent for a second. But there's really no point in pretending I know what she said. I have no fucking idea. "No, Mrs. Wurt."

 

When she rolls her eyes I can't help but feel a twinge of anger. Jesus, I was spacing out. Thinking about shit. Give me a fucking break. It's not like I do this every god damn day.

 

"We're doing partners this week. Today you're going to be giving that paper you wrote last night to a classmate and have them review it. And you're gonna review theirs." Mrs. Wurt graciously informs me. Even though I know the routine by now.  

 

I sigh softly to myself, looking around the class for a partner. "Okay... who's still open?" Mrs. Wurt won't stop giving me this horribly annoyed look.

 

"We're going in alphabetical order, sweety." ...Oh....Fuck. Really? Fuck you. "Go sit next to Eric."

 

That's fan-fucking-tastic...

 

I make no hurry to get out of my seat, gathering my things and dragging my feet to take a seat next to Cartman. Jesus christ. It's really just my luck that our last names are so fucking close in the alphabet. Of course I have to work with him today. Any other day I would hardly care. Cartman actually wanted to be in Speech, so he does his work. It's usually not a pain in the ass to work with him. But right now? Interacting with Cartman is one of the last things I want to do.

I drop into my seat next to him, setting my bag down and keeping my eyes away from him. Mrs. Wurt goes through the rest of the kids names, and I just want to keep staring at the surface of this desk forever.   

 

"Jew. Paper." Cartman nudges at my shoulder, and I inwardly sigh as turn my head towards him. Surprisingly there's no obvious mischief in his eyes. He just looks at me expectantly, readily handing his paper to me. "You.. wrote one, didn't you?" He asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.

 

I take his paper and pull my own speech from my folder, handing it to him to read over. Assignments like this are kind of routine. You're supposed to have your partner critique you so that you can see what you could be doing better from someone else's point of view. ... Cartman has a pretty good way with words. But I don't know if he'd actually give me any useful advice on my speech. Not willingly, at least.

 

I pick up his paper and start reading. Already I can tell it's written in his style. The way he words things seem so forward, like he's all business. I can practically hear it being spoken in his voice. It's actually kind of impressive that he can put that kind of tone into writing. I read the paper over a couple of times, searching for any mistakes. The only mistake I can really find is that he didn't cite or specify his sources. He just kind of presented statements. I take out my pen and write that on his paper before sliding it over to him. He's just getting done reading my paper himself.

 

"Wow." He says, but it really doesn't sound like he's wow'd in the slightest. He looks over at me with an contemplative expression. "That might've been the most boring thing I've ever read."

Bastard.

 

"That might've been the least constructive 'critique' I've ever received." I shoot back at him, my eyes narrowed. "Are you gonna write that down?"

 

Cartman glances down at the paper before before sighing. "Gotta say, Kyle. I'm disappointed." He’s using a tone on me.

 

"Oh god."

 

"No, I'm serious. This can't be the writing style you go with, Jew. There's no emotion. It's dry as shit."  He insists.

 

"It’s supposed to be straightforward. I'm not gonna use emotions against the readers, Fatass. I'm not manipulative like you." Since we're in a classroom I have to be quiet, but I’m thankful that the sting in my voice is still there.

 

Cartman turns his head fully towards me, seeming as if he's in disbelief. "The fuck are you talking about? You've always been manipulative."

 

At this point I have to hold myself back a little because I don't know if he's fucking with me or if he actually believes that. He honestly seems like he genuinely believes what he's saying. I purse my lips and tell him straight out, "I'm not manipulative in the slightest."

 

"Yeah you are," He immediately responds with a smirk and a furrowed brow. "You think just because you don't 'use' people, you don't manipulate them? If you convince someone to do something they wouldn't usually do, it still counts. All those gay speeches you used to do, they were manipulation.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” I say rolling my eyes. But Cartman doesn’t seem at all like he’s setting up a joke. So… I guess I’m kind of inclined to actually consider this. “It’s not manipulation. When I talk to people about morals I’m just being encouraging, if anything.”  

 

Cartman slides the paper to my side of the desk and sits back a little in his chair. "Okay, remember when we were 9 or whatever and we were both trying to convince that bald guy to do what we wanted? It was in Los Angeles, over that Family Guy episode."

 

"You mean that guy you pointed a gun at?” I ask. “That doesn't count as being convincing. You were directly threatening him."

 

"Sure, Kyle. Whatever. The point is even though I had a gun pointed at his head, he still aired that episode. And the only reason he did that, in spite of his life being threatened, is because you convinced him that it was the right thing to do."

 

Huh… I'm actually surprised that he's willing to talk about that. When we caught a ride home he was so pissed off that he wouldn't even look at me. He was that upset about losing to me. For him to talk about this now, to acknowledge my victory… Wow, that’s just.. unexpected.

 

“Think of it this way, Kahl. There’s ‘bad’ manipulation, and there’s ‘good’ manipulation. Like Martin Luther King. You think all those people would’ve gotten up and taken all those cop’s brutal bullshit if Martin Luther King wasn’t ridiculously fucking good at speaking?”

 

I stare apprehensively at Cartman, my tight shoulders slackening. “No, I guess not.”

 

“That’s manipulation. ‘Good’ manipulation, if the connotation of the word ‘manipulation’ bothers you so much.  You’re not like ‘evil player boyfriend’ manipulative. You’re like, Martin Luther King manipulative.” Cartman explains. “But the point is, you’re really fucking manipulative. Use it in the speech, stupid jew.”    

 

A few seconds go by where I’m just staring blankly at Cartman, before I can finally take my eyes off of him and say, “Okay.” He himself seems to hesitate, his stern expression lessening slightly. For a split second Cartman almost looks contemplative. Then he takes his paper and reads my edits on it.

 

Was that… praise? From him? I mean shit, I’ve gotten praise from him before, but fuck that was thorough. He made absolute sure I understood that he expected more out of me. That he… knows how good I am at manipulating. He even compared me to Martin Luther King Jr. for fuck’s sake. Hearing that was so… surreal. So surreal that I’m feeling my stomach knot up inside. It’s a weird reaction to be honest.. but.. hearing that kind of encouragement from Cartman was weird enough to warrant it. And I’m in such awe of that weird fucking event that the tension in me isn’t even there anymore.

 

Ms. Wurt  is giving a lecture, and I do my best to focus. During the downtime between her speaking I take a few glances at Cartman. Sometimes he does meet my eyes, but other times he’s looking off in some other direction. .. I don’t get it. How I am I supposed to take that analysis from Cartman? Since when does he say something so straightforward about me anyway? I take a moment to consider that he’s just really into speech. But I can’t take that seriously. This is my first time getting his critique specifically, but it’s just not in his nature to … compliment people. Especially me, of all people.

 

I was honestly expecting him to be a fucking asshole to me today. About something. To rip on me about the fact that I got “intimidated” by him. But… nothing? If he’s going to taunt me, he sure is biding his time. Maybe this being nice is some kind of tactic of his...

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the day goes by rather quickly, and before I know it the school bell rings and it's time to go home. I stand up from the desk of my last period and head to the courtyard to meet the rest of the guys. We usually walk home together. I'm a little concerned by how clouded my mind has been today. It's like every pause between doing my school work my mind just floods with thoughts of what happened in Speech class.

I seriously don't know how I'm supposed to feel about it. It's so strange for Cartman to act like that without a proper reason. I've known him since as far back as I can remember, and the moments where Cartman would go out of his way to compliment me - no, to compliment anyone- are far and few between. So why? I scrape my heels against the pavement as I think hard, but I can't latch onto a reason. Maybe it's some sort of bribery. Like he wants something from me later. That's all I can really think of; that he's trying to butter me up for something…

"Hey, Kyle!"

I'm snapped out my thoughts as I take my eyes off the ground and see Stan and Cartman waiting by the canopy. Looks like Kenny isn't there yet… Shoving my hand in my pockets I make my way over to the other guys. Stan greets me with an amused smile.

"Dude you missed it. Cartman got Mr. Cooper so pissed off that he stormed out of the room." Stan mentioned.

I take a glance at Cartman to see his content expression. Well. That's just typical. "Mr. Cooper?" I repeat, leaning against the wall.

"The short guy with the weird bald spot. It's our History teacher." Cartman clarifies, his hands lax against his hips. "Dude it was so funny, I got the whole class laughing at him and he couldn't say shit."

"Jesus. That's awful." I frown disapprovingly. Cartman shrugs his shoulders and can't seem to take that amused smirk off his face.

"He's fiine." Cartman dismisses with a wave of his hand. "Plus he got so distracted that he forgot to write me up. Two birds with one stone."

"A quicker solution would be to not get written up in the first place." I retort. I honestly always feel bad for whatever teacher has to deal with Cartman in his class.

"That's another thing, I got written up for not paying attention." Cartman begins, scoffing as if that's outrageous. "What kinda bullshit is that? Why do I have to listen to him gush about how great America is?"

"Probably because it's U.S. History." Stan remarks.

"That's just his excuse. I'm telling you, no one has as much of a boner for America as Cooper does. It almost beats jews and their boners for money."

"Oh god. Here we go." I grumble. Cartman meets my eyes when I say that, as if he was waiting. He keeps a straight face but I can see the smug glint in his eyes. Fucking asshole.

"Guilty conscience, Kyle?" He prompts me with an eyebrow raised.

"Don't even  _start_  with that shit. That stereotype doesn't even make sense! Everyone likes money." I defend with a little bit of bite in my voice. I've always hated that argument.

Cartman gives a little tilt of his head, a grin forming on his face. "So you do admit that you fit the stereotype."

That grin. That  _fucking_  grin.

"Just as much as you fit the stereotype of a fat fuck liking food," I chide. My fingers curl into a fist. Cartman's eyes darken and I can feel my pulse quicken in my fingers.

"Fuck off, Jew! That's not the same, everyone fucking eats!" Cartman exclaims, pushing himself off the wall to face me.

"And everyone spends fucking money! See how stupid you sound?!" I quickly retort. I hear Stan sigh from the sidelines, but I don't focus too much on that. We fight like this all the time, but Cartman's body language is weird this time - stiff. As if he's hesitant about something.

"Jews don't just spend money, they hoard it!" Cartman barks back, not shifting from his place.

This is different. He's not stepping towards me like he usually does. I end up stepping towards him a pace more than I usually would, and the height difference becomes more apparent. I try to not think about that too much, despite having to look up at him.

"It's called  _saving,_ Fatass! It's what smart people do!" I growl, my shoulders tight. I never take my eyes from his, to emphasize that I'm not intimidated. He doesn't take his eyes off me either. He's probably thinking about how I backed away from him that first time.. probably satisfied with that win.

"The only saving going on is you trying to save face for your greedy jew heritage!" Cartman argued, as he glared down at me. This fucking asshole..

I flinch at the sudden feeling of a hand on my shoulder. Stan pulls me back a little, a worried expression on his face. "Dude, maybe you shouldn't."

" _Shouldn't?!_ " I raise my voice at him. Why the fuck not? We do this shit all the time, and Stan's never stopped me like this before! What the hell is Stan worried about all of a sudden?!

I can hear Cartman huff and I turn back to him instantly. "Yeah Kahl, back off. Listen to your boyfriend."

This snide son of a bitch! I lunge forward and slam my palms against Cartman's chest with all the force that I can muster. He's knocked completely off balance, falling right on his ass with a grunt. "Fuck off, Fatass!" I snap, my fists tight. I hear Stan say something in disagreement, but I'm too caught up in my own thoughts and the hot blood rushing through my veins to care.

Cartman looks up at me with an offended expression, and having him be the one on the lower ground is satisfying in a way."The fuck, Kahl!" He groans, rubbing his palm that scraped against the concrete when he landed.

"You brought it on yourself, Fatass! Learn when to shut up!" I say in a firm voice. I don't know what it is, but something about what I said makes Cartman jump to his feet, getting in my face again.

"You don't fucking  _lecture_ me, Kahl!" He seethes, towering over me.

I match his eyes and grip on his shirt, pulling him closer to make the point that he doesn't scare me. He never did. "Then stop being a fucking idiot!" I demand, glowering. He raises an eyebrow at the challenging gesture I give him, and somehow that pisses me off anymore. Like he wasn't expect me to have the balls to challenge him or something.

Just as he opens his mouth to speak again, we're shoved apart. Stan has both his hands on either of our collars, pushing us a good distance from one another. "Knock it off, guys! You're making a scene!" He growls.

It's only now that I notice that other students have gathered around us in a circle, waiting for a fight. Not that I fucking give a shit if they were watching or not. Either way, this was between me and Cartman.

"Just calm down and wait for Kenny to meet up with us, for fucks sake." Stan says, leading me a few paces further away from Cartman.

I look at Cartman again and his shoulders are more relaxed, the tension leaving his body. "Whatever," he growls, leaning back against the wall. Stan gives me an apprehensive glance.

"What?" I prompt him. He shakes his head at me, looking down. I roll my eyes impatiently at him, and he mouths the words, 'I'll tell you later.'

Kenny catches up to us soon and we take our bus home. Apparently he had some work to catch up on. As we ride I talk briefly with Stan, giving him advice on how to work out equations for specific formulas. Cartman still seems a little tense from that exchange. ...Fuck if I care, though.

We're going to the arcade today, but Stan tells the others that me and him are gonna wait up. Cartman and Kenny go on ahead.

"Okay, what's with those looks you were giving me earlier?" I ask him once we're pulled off to the side.

Stan shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed but apologetic. "Don't sound so upset. I'm just.. ya know, a little concerned."

"About what?" I say maybe a little too quickly. Fuck it, I know I'm being defensive. But if he's about to start worrying about me fighting with Cartman just because Cartman's bigger than me now, then fucking hell.

Stan purses his lips, crossing his arms and sighing before he speaks again. "You're kinda, really irritable lately. You don't usually get that - I don't know - confrontational around Cartman. Like, physically at least. You feeling okay?"

..Oh.

I quirk my lips, giving a slight huff and shoving my hands in my pockets. Jesus, why  _am_ I being so defensive? "It's nothing, dude. I just… I'm.." I pause and think for a moment. "No it's- it's just with Cartman." I remind myself.

Stan blinks a few times, the tension leaving his expression. "Oh, did he do something?"

Hasn't he noticed?

No wait, of course he wouldn't notice. Not without the context anyway. "He's just acting different. Like, on purpose." I explain to him. Stan raises an eyebrow.

"What? How?" Stan asks.

"He's…" I pause, trying to think of how to say this. How do you say something like that? He's being less aggressive with me? But he wouldn't get that. He wouldn't get how that's patronizing, unless he knew that I fucking staggered back like a scared puppy. And I'm not about to explain that to him. "He's being nicer. It's not normal."

Stan looks at me, bewildered, but a smile follows this expression. He looks at me and shakes his head, laughing. I guess that does sound weird. "Maybe he's just getting nicer, Kyle."

"Cartman? Getting nicer?" I repeat. That combination of words is just unnatural.

Stan shrugs. "He hasn't really done anything since his Mom married that Buck guy. Maybe that fatherly figure's doing something good for him."

I shake my head. "Yeah right. He doesn't even like Buck."

"Maybe he does, and he's just saying he doesn't. To like, look tough or something. Maybe he's actually getting nicer and he's really not pulling something this time." Stan offers. I frown at this.

"..Maybe." I repeat. Fuck, I hate second guessing myself. What if he actually is being nice? … He did compliment me in class… ..Then... I was just a total dick to him for no reason.

God dammit.

"You sure you okay?" Stan asks again, looking concerned at me. I shoot my head up and nod.

"Yeah, I'm fine dude."

Stan gives me a blank, unassured look, then turns to go into the arcade. I follow him in. The arcade always has a nice, invigorating atmosphere, but it doesn't really sink into me when I'm deep in thought, unfortunately. There's a slight hint of guilt in my system, but moreso confusion. Simply because it feels so strange for Cartman to not be an asshole.

I mean… he wasn't an asshole 24/7. Not even as a kid. He could be decent 30 percent of the time and be a shitty intolerable dickface the other 70 percent, but it was never all the time. I guess even Cartman had to take a break from being an asshole.

But it's just so weird to get that vibe that Cartman's pulling punches on me. For absolutely no reason, too.

Still… maybe I jumped to conclusions. I scuff my heels against the black carpet of the arcade, my searching eyes eventually find Cartman. He's hunched over the arcade machine of some old game, the screen showing a top down view of a white car going down a road.

"What's that?" I ask casually.

"Spyhunter." Cartman says. His tongue is stuck out in concentration as his eyes flicker over the screen, engaged with what he's doing. So I sit back and watch him play. I watch the little white car dodge other cars as the 8-bit James Bond-esque music plays, and my heart does a little stutter every time I even think of apologizing to him.

Apologizing to Cartman. When was that ever a good idea? I turn down a couple passing moments to speak up before I finally decide to.

"Hey, uh…" I start. Fuck, do I really want to? … Fuck it, I already started. "Sssorry for pushing you."

Cartman gives me a double take, staring at me like I spoke gibberish to him. "The fuck you talking about, Kahl?" He asks, his bewilderment apparent in his tone.

My eyebrows come down slightly. This is weird to do this. Really weird. "It was unwarranted. I shouldn't have lashed out like that."

I'm caught off guard by the way his expression softens, this kind of mixture of worry and contemplation that looks incredibly alien on his face. I can't stop staring at him now, but he quickly looks away. Why did… why did he react like that?

Cartman's hand tightens around the joystick and he goes back to his game. He gives a fake amused laugh. "Did someone pay you to apologize to me or something?"

"Fuck off," immediately tumbles out of my mouth. "I'm saying sorry because I thought you were being a dick when you weren't."

"...I  _wasn't_?" Cartman asks.

I purse my lips. "Okay, you were. But like, not anymore than usual. And.. I thought you  _were_. ...Being more of a dick than usual." This sounds stupid. I should've just kept my mouth shut.

For at least 15 seconds it's silent. Even though I can still hear the sounds of the arcade game going off, the sounds of Cartman's car veering left to right and that chiptune loop playing. The lack of a response Cartman gives me has this weird weight to it. It feels uncomfortable. ...Maybe he just tuned me out. I'm kinda hoping he did.

"You're thinking too much." He finally answers.

My eyebrows knit together at his response. I'm not really sure what to make of it. Admittedly I was thinking that I was thinking too much. But for him to come to that conclusion is... weird. Kind of implies that he got where I was going with my thoughts.

It feels like there's something to figure out here. I kind of feel the need to ask more. I rotate my heel against the carpet in a bit of a fidgety motion, staring down at the ground. "So, about what happened in the bathroom..."

Cartman turns his head, his eyes engaged with mine. and I immediately go silent from that reaction.

...So, like I thought, he didn't just forget about that. Shit, I felt kinda weird for letting it plague my mind but he was thinking about it too, at least a little.

"What about it?" He asks after a few moments. I hear the sounds of his little white car crashing, and somehow it's kind of unnerving that he's focusing fully on me. Enough to let his game lives go to waste.

"It… wasn't what you think it was, that's all." I answer.

Cartman's eyes shift away for a moment. He seems puzzled - out of his element, maybe. Then he leans his elbow on the arcade and keeps his eyes locked on me. "What do you think I think it was?"

My shoulders tense a bit. I feel the intensely tempting need to look away, but I keep my eyes locked on his. … I can't answer that, can I? What would I say? I'm quickly realizing that 'You thought I was intimidated by you, but I'm actually not,' really doesn't work in words. So now I'm just standing here. Staring into those judging, icy blue eyes of my childhood rival. My mind just drawing heavy blanks where words should be.

"Whatever you thought it was, you're probably wrong." I finally say, a last ditch effort to break that silence. It's sloppy, it says nothing, and I'd curse myself for it, but it still did the job of taking that pressure off me.

Cartman still says nothing, but raises an eyebrow at me, his eyes seeming to search mine. Then he looks away and smirks. "Okay, Kahl." He chuckles. He fishes out another quarter from his pocket and pushes it into the slot, starting up the game again. I stand there in a sort of stupor next to him.

...To some degree, he gets it. But I can't tell if he gets all of it. Does he know exactly what I meant? Or did he think something different and just acted like he did, to fuck with me? Fuck. It's fucking Cartman. It could be either.

But the way he reacted earlier... He definitely has an opinion on what happened. It wasn't just… some random thing that happened that he barely thought about. The thing is, he wasn't a dick about it. He wasn't rubbing it in my face or anything, he was just… oddly contemplative about it. That's the part I really didn't expect.


	4. Chapter 4

November means the nights come a little earlier. It hits 7 PM and the sky's getting really dark. I've already split off from the guys. I don't like to be home early, but it's safer that way so Mom doesn't flip her shit. The arcade we went to is located in the same area that all the bars and alleyways are. Mom knows that, and she doesn't want me getting hurt by some drunk assholes or something. Fair 's a lot less protective than she used to be. Somewhere down the line we came to an agreement, that she wouldn't try to shelter me. That's been working out pretty great.

Toasty warmth cradles my entire body once I step into the house, a very distinct difference from the chilly wind outside. I take off my hat by reflex as soon as I walk in.

"Welcome home, Bubbe!" I hear my mom call from the hallway. I answer her greeting with a half-hearted response, and she doesn't come out of the hall. Probably dusting the family photos or something. "There's some stew on the counter for you."

Guess she made dinner early. I take a serving of stew and take a seat at the empty table. The house is really quiet, but I know why. Dad's up in his study. And the usual sounds that I'm so used to hearing; of the TV running some over the top action movie is missing. Ike usually watches those on the flat screen. But lately he's too busy studying for his mathlete competition.

Mom and Dad have been obsessing over that fact ever since they heard about it in September. A son they raised is going to compete something as prestigious as a state-wide mathematics competition. They're so proud. Especially now that it's one day away. I probably won't see them tomorrow much.

As I eat my dinner unpleasant thoughts go through my head. Next to my brother, my adopted brother, I'm inadequate. But I know that's my insecurities talking… it's better to just ignore that.

Mom steps in and sits at the table with me, her hands clasped together and rested relaxed on the table. My eyes meet hers, and I start feeling this uncomfortable air. Oh god.

"So, how are things with Jennifer?" She asks. For a second I thought I'd be able to go a day - just  _one_ \- without being pestered about that shit. I'm a fucking idiot.

"Haven't texted her." I say honestly, because in all likeliness, Mom probably asked Jennifer that same question and got the real answer. "I've been working on my speech." I say, hoping to soften the blow.

"Now Kyle," Mom starts with this scolding tone. I want to roll my eyes, but I keep a blank expression. "I know you boys are scared of relationships. But Jennifer is a very nice girl. You're just overthinking again. Getting with a girl like Jennifer is an accomplishment, not a task."

You sure are treating it like a task.

"And she's local! Just an hour's drive away."

That's not the problem.

"And besides, she likes you very much!"

"I know, Mom." I say through a sigh. A brief silence ensues. I know she's looking at me so I keep my eyes on my bowl, swirling the stew with my spoon before I decide to take another bite.

"You have to get out of your shell, Kyle. Love is a very important part of life." She says to me. She apparently thinks I'm shy or insecure about relationships. Well… I wouldn't know myself. But that's not the issue here. I'm not interested in these girls she's giving me. "Listen to me, Kyle. I want you to at least try with Jennifer." She says, still a little firmly, but there's some softness to her voice.

"Okay." I answer. I don't really like this conversation at all, and I don't want a fight. I push my half eaten bowl off to the side.

"Good! Make sure to text her, Bubbe." She says, standing up and taking the bowl. I start up the stairs to my room, not saying a word.

I haven't really tried to fight her on this. Mom's one of those people that absolutely has to win. She'd argue in circles until I was too exhausted to argue anymore. And I'd just end up in the same place I am now. She'd talk about how disappointed she is. That one son is in a mathlete competition, making a name for himself at the age of 12, and the other son can't even get a girlfriend.

I check my texts with Jennifer. She sent me a picture of something she thought I'd find funny. I don't find it funny. … Do I really wanna do this...? I sigh to myself and type a simple "Lol that's funny" to her. It's not like I have much of a choice in the matter. Pretending to like something is one the most tiresome and agitating things I can think of.

We continue the conversation a little longer, about 5 minutes between responses. Nothing's really said. I don't learn much about her except that she likes cats. Big surprise, fucking everybody likes cats.

Eventually I drift to sleep, happy that it's an excuse to stop texting Jennifer. I do feel a little bad that I resent her just because Mom made me text her. But I guess that's how it goes.

…

Before I know it Tuesday night turns into Wednesday morning, and I'm dragging my feet through the hallways of school again, heavy eyed and feeling like my legs are 50 pounds each. Just one of those days where I'm really not a morning person, I guess. I step into my first period class and try to clear my head before the class starts. Stan is sitting next to me with a troubled look on his face. I take a little notice of it, but I'm not sure if I want to touch this one.

Stan takes in a breath, his fingers drumming on the desk. "Kyle," he says in a huff, looking up at me from his desk. "Have you heard anything from Lesley?"

I look blankly at Stan. Heard anything from her? "I don't talk to her."

"She hasn't texted me in 2 days." Stan says worriedly.

"Maybe she's busy. It's only been 2 days." I tell him.

"Kyle, she's been acting really weird lately. Like, she doesn't wanna do stuff with me."

I guess Wendy was right. "I did hear her telling her friends that you were boring." I say honestly with a shrug.

Stan's jaw tightens, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. He looks like he was just slapped in the face. I shoot him a sympathetic look, patting his shoulder. Boring is a surprisingly hurtful word.

"Sorry dude..."

"No, I... I gotta fix it." Stan mutters.

Fix it? How do you fix disinterest?

"Kyle, can you talk to her?" He lifts his head with a pleading look in his eyes. "See if you can find out why-"

"No."

Stan looks thrown off. "Kyle, come on! I need to know what I can do!"

"I don't like Lesley, Stan. I'm not gonna talk to her just because you want me to." I say firmly.

His eyebrows come down in frustration. "Just because you don't like her, you're not gonna help me? I thought you were my friend, Kyle."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I'm your friend, I'm not your errand boy. I'm not giving you what you want, but I'm giving you my opinion. You need to give up on Lesley. She's not a good person."

Stan gives me an appalled look, just staring at me. Then he shakes his head, crossing his arms and slumping in his desk. "You don't even  _know_ Lesley." He scoffs.

God I hate when people say that. I don't even know her? I've known Lesley for 6 months and all she's done is question Stan on every possible subject. She has this bitter tone and constant off putting sneer about her. The only time I ever see her smile, it's incredibly condescending. I know that much about her. And if that's not enough to truly "know" her, then fine. I don't wanna fucking know her.

And I wish Stan didn't know her either. Lately when he talks about her for a while I can practically see the life drain from his face. Like the very thought of her takes its toll on him. So why the fuck is he still with her? Why would he put up with this?

This thought occupies my mind for a while. I know I'm not supposed to get into it, but Stan tried asking for my help. And to be honest, I wish I could. Like, not cater to him, I mean actually HELP him. But he's just so hooked on her, and I'm not even sure what she's doing to keep him there. All I know is that she's… well... manipulating him.

...

During Speech class everyone talks amongst themselves, paired up again to work on their papers. I've helped Cartman with his grammar and pacing and he's helped me put more feeling into my writing. It's a pretty even trade off. More even than I'd expect him to give to me. I'm a little relieved that there's no tension between us at the moment. It feels normal again.

I watch him read through my corrections and a small silence settles between us. "... Hey, you know Stan's girlfriend right now?" I ask.

He doesn't look up from his paper. "Lesley?" He asks.

"Yeah. What do you think of her?"

Cartman's eyes shift up to me. He looks puzzled by that question. "Your typical bimbo." He deadpans.

... I'm not sure why I thought Cartman would have a deep analysis on her. I kind of figured he as a manipulative person would sense manipulation in other people. Like he picked up on mine. I shrug my shoulders a little. But I keep going with the conversation anyhow, seeing where it takes me. "But… how is she keeping Stan this long, when she's so…" I trail off.

"Bitchy?" He finishes.

"Yeah," I agree. To be honest that's a pretty precise word for her, but I'm not as naturally blunt as Cartman is. "She's manipulating him, right?"

He scoffs, an amused grin his face. "Technically. It's not like she's aware of it. She's dumb as fuck."

I furrow my eyebrows. Lesley..? I don't exactly like her, but I know she's not dumb. "She's a Straight A student."

Cartman rolls his eyes. "She follows directions, Kahl. She's not fuckin smart. The only reason Stan's getting manipulated by a dumb bitch like her is because, one, she's hot, and two, Stan's an open fucking book."

I give him a leveled stare. "So you're saying Stan's stuck with her until she gets bored of him?" I ask.

"Pretty much." Cartman says with a shrug.

I consider what he says. I'm not so sure I agree with what he's saying, but I don't really disagree either. I don't really pay attention to Lesley that much; I kind of just assumed she was smart. Maybe Cartman's being rash on this one, maybe he's not. There's a high chance that he just doesn't give a shit about Lesley and is misjudging her as a typical airheaded hot chick.

But, I'm just second guessing him. I trust Cartman's judgements - his genuine judgements - more than I like to admit. It's not something I think about consciously, but he knows how people work.

That's why he's always been good at manipulating them.

…

I spend most of the day racking my brain for some kind of solution to Stan's problem. Even though meddling in relationships isn't something I usually do. Trying to break apart two people when you know they're not good for each other never yields any results. But he asked me for help. And he's going to drag me in. If he keeps doing that, I'm just gonna try to drag him out every time he asks me. He'll either leave me alone about it or actually listen. And either is fine.

The bell rang a little while ago. Stan has football practice today, so the rest of us are waiting for the bus to show up. Kenny and Cartman are talking about that new Fallout game that's coming out soon. I don't know much about that game, so I only pick up bits and pieces of what it's like from them. It sounds interesting enough.

I listen to the conversation loosely, watching for our bus number to show up. I'm not fond of Wednesdays, admittedly. I'm not usually alone with Kenny and Cartman, and these three person situations often feel weird. I feel out of place with them, without Stan.

"There you are, Kyle!" A voice calls. One that seems vaguely familiar… I turn around to the sound of the voice.

… Oh god. It's Jennifer.

My heart sinks as this short brunette strides towards me, flashing me a bright smile. "I've been looking for you all day! You're so elusive." She says giving a playful smack to my arm.

The other two hear Jennifer's voice and their eyes are now on her too. I stare at her, perplexed. "What are you doing here? You should be in school. Your school." Seriously, what the fuck, she lives like an hour away from here!

Jennifer lets out a small giggle, twirling her hair and giving me this innocent look. "To be honest, I skipped school to come see you."

Why. Why would you do that? We only spent like a day together when my Mom forced us to. Who would enjoy that kind of time together?

"Who's this chick?" I hear Cartman say. My stomach knots up and I turn my head to him quickly.

"Uh…" I swallow nervously, looking Cartman and Kenny over. This is a weird situation. "This is Jennifer Levitt. She's…" One of the girls Mom's trying to make me date. "...We met last week."

"Hi~! You can call me Jenny." She chimes with a wave of her hand. "What're you guys' names?"

God fucking dammit, Jennifer. This was the worst timing. As the guys introduce themselves I'm getting the worst vibes from them. Kenny has an awfully amused look, as if eyeing Jennifer like a piece of meat. Cartman has a blank expression on his face, but there's a particular glint of disdain in his eyes. He always seems to have a look of disgust when meeting people with bubbly personalities.

"But nobody calls him Eric," Kenny continues, "We just call him Cartman."

"Oh wow, that's so weird," Jenny says, looking up at Cartman. "Is it like Mr. Cartman or just Cartman?"

Cartman frowns. "Why the fuck- did Kenny  _say_ Mr. Cartman?"

"Uh, Jennifer, maybe you should go." I pull Jennifer back by her shoulder a bit, away from Cartman. I don't really like Jennifer, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable by sicking Cartman on her either.

"What? But I just found you!" Jennifer whines. God, that fucking whine. I'm resisting the urge to wince.

"Yeah, but I'm kinda busy today." I tell her. That's a lie. But I don't really want to spend a day with her and end up giving her the wrong idea. I just gotta figure out how to let her down easy.

Jennifer frowns. "You're not busy! This morning your mom drove me here and told me that you were free today!"

Wait, what?! ... God dammit, Mom…! Why would you just spring this shit on me?! I cover my face with my palm, trying to not show the inherent anger on my face. Just, jesus fucking christ. You can't just set traps for me like this..!

"Oh, is she the girl your Mom set you up with?" Kenny asks.

"No shit, Ken. She's probably a Jew, too." Cartman says with disapproval in his voice.

Jennifer turns to him, looking insulted. "I  _am_ Jewish. So what?"

Cartman lets out a laugh. "Oh, I know. You have to be. Kahl's mom wants you guys to fuck and make more god damn jews to release into the world."

Jennifer's eyes widen slightly, and she takes a step back. No shit she's scared though, Cartman's giving off a pretty threatening vibe. "Cartman," I growl. She's obviously not used to his bullshit, and he knows it.

Cartman locks eyes with me, seeming agitated. "Oh come on. That's what it is. That's the jew agenda. Fuck and make even more sneaky jews."

"Do NOT belittle our people, you fat piece of shit!" I shout, grabbing a fistful of his jacket. He looks down at me. He's not fazed at all by me. The fucking asshole…

"I'm just telling it like it is, Kahl. You jews aren't satisfied with controlling the money and the media, there has to be more of you." Cartman taunts, venom in his voice. "More of you until you stuff up the entire country with your race of greedy, deceptive-"

Before he can finish I've already swung my fist at him, punching him so that his head whips back. He was asking for it. He was fucking asking for it! He pulled out all the stops on purpose! This fucking asshole!

He stands there, frozen for a moment, before he turns his head back to me. His eyes are suddenly intense. His pupils have grown twice their normal size, the black covering most of the icy blue. It sends chills down my spine, but fuck if I'm gonna give him ground again.

"You wanna keep fucking going?" I ask through gritted teeth. Cartman leans in a little bit, making a point of looking straight into my eyes.

"Kike."

My blood is on fire.

With a shout I use all the force in my body to tackle Cartman to the ground. I vaguely hear cheers around us, no doubt students egging me on. I don't need any encouragement, I'm gonna smash his fucking teeth in! I quickly pin him to the concrete under us, making sure he can't move. My head is pounding, my blood's burning in a rush of rage. I swing my fist, aiming for his face. His hands grip around my wrist, but I still manage to knick him, make his lip bleed.

This fucking asshole- I try to pry my wrist out of his grasp, but all this serves to do is make him grab onto my other arm. I yank back, but I can't shake his grip. So instead I jab my elbows into his chest, and he makes a very abrupt grunt. It sounded like that hurt. Good, this is what he fucking asked for.

He swings me to the side so I end up scraping my arms against the jagged concrete. I barely notice the sting. I'm too pissed to care. He glances up at the students gathered around us and stumbles to his feet. I force myself up and whirl him around, plunging my fist into his gut. It's painful enough to make his knees buckle.

Just as I'm about to latch my arm around his neck and get him in a hold, I hear the shrill voice of Principal Kaycee.

"Kyle Broflovski! Eric Cartman!" The Principal screams, the volume of the shriek enough to make me flinch.

The crowd releases a few groans of disappointment and falls into muttering. Principal Kaycee glares at the two of us, while two male teachers step next to us, grabbing each of us firmly by the arm.

"In my office, now!" Kaycee shouts, prompting the two teachers to urge us forward.

Cartman straightens his back, running fingers through his hair.

"Good job, jew." He groans.

"Shut up." I growl, following the teacher toward the Principal's office. Asshole. Maybe now he'll think twice about what he says.

 


	5. Chapter 5

There aren't many times that I regret calling Cartman out on his shit. But right now is definitely one of those times. At least technically.

The Principal's first question to us was asking what the fight was about. I immediately told her that Cartman was being very anti-semitic. Now, as Cartman and I sit in the principal's office, my frustrations are being redirected towards Principal Kaycee.

She's gone off on a rant, lecturing Cartman about how rude that is. How horribly deplorable it is to discriminate against a race, and how he shouldn't do it. She's going off to say that for the world we live in now, there's too many people that haven't caught up with society.

That's true, sure. But her words are falling on deaf ears. Cartman knows it's bad. That's why he did it. Telling him what he did was bad at this point is just reassurance that he effectively reached his goals.

But instead of a retort or snide remark, he stares at her with deceptively engaged eyes, acting like he's truly listening. "I understand, Principal Kaycee. That makes total sense." He says with a sentimental tone. I roll my eyes.

Kaycee nods, not even seeming to question the fact that Cartman agreed with her so easily. "So you must understand how hurtful your words are to Kyle."

Cartman looks at me and nods. "And I just feel terrible about it."

I shoot him a frown. "Sure you do."

He puts his hand on my shoulder, using a false apologetic expression. "No, Kahl, I'm really sorry. I had no idea how tough it actually is for you. But I made a joke of it anyway. I was ignorant. I wasn't considering your feelings, and that was wrong."

I grimace immediately at him. Ugh, this act is so off putting. Not to say it isn't convincing. But god do I know it's not him. I know it so well that seeing him act like this feels insulting.

"Well I guess we learned something here." Principal Kaycee says in a satisfied tone. "There is a way to alleviate ignorance without the use of violence." She turns her head to me, giving me a look. As if she's expecting me to say something. "Kyle."

… Is she expecting me to apologize for punching Cartman in the face? No way. Cartman's not even sorry for what he did. And I'm not about to fake sorry like he does. Fuck that shit.

"I understand if Kahl needs some time to forgive me, Principal Kaycee." Cartman says, cutting in. "What I did was incredibly wrong. He's probably still hurting."

Principal Kaycee smiles at Cartman. "That's very mature, Eric."

Cartman returns the smile. Guess he already knew I had no intention of apologizing. He knew what he was getting into.

With a smack of his palms against his thighs, Cartman stands up from his chair. "Well! I think I've learned my lesson." He says through a relaxed sigh, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"Actually, you have to stay in the office. We've called your parents to pick you up." Principal Kaycee informs us.

I furrow my eyebrows at this. Really… we probably already missed our bus. And my parents left to take Ike to his mathlete competition at 2pm.

"What." Cartman deadpans. Guess he's dropping the act, because his expression has changed drastically from apologetic to incredibly displeased.

"But my parents are in Denver." I say, trying not to sound as irritated as I actually am.

Principal Kaycee gives me a slightly surprised look, her lips pursing slightly. "Well… maybe you could ask one of your friends for a ride home."

Oh great. Great solution, Kaycee. You keep me from riding my fucking bus with your stupid rant that could've been six fucking sentences, then you say I can't go home unless someone picks me up. Kenny's probably already gone home, and Stan's at football practice. So I really have no choice but to take a ride from Cartman.

That's just perfect.

"Fucking christ, did she really have to go on for that long? What she was saying was painfully obvious." I say under my breath. Thankfully we're allowed to sit out in the lobby, looking through the glass while we wait for Cartman's ride to show up. It's somewhat relieving to be able to bitch about it, to some extent.

"You're really mad about that, huh?" Cartman chuckles, leaning back a little in his chair. "I thought you liked that preachy bullshit."

"It was annoying. And patronizing. She talked about me like I was some sort of oversensitive baby." I groan, making a noise of disgust.

"There's just no pleasing a jew."

I turn my head to him, glaring. I'm obviously still mad about that shit he said, though I know it was just to piss me off. It's the most annoying thing when Cartman just decides to fucking push my buttons for fun. And then gets off scot-free, by pulling that act. When he looks up to meet my eyes, I purse my lips.

"You know what else was annoying, that fake bullshit you were doing." I say, though Cartman probably knows by now that I hate that.

His eyes brighten a little bit, and by the twitch of his lips I know he just fought a smile. God. He just gets off on getting under my skin.

"It's not faking, Kahl. It's acting." He corrects me, his voice taking on a quality of playfulness. "And you gotta admit, I'm a great actor."

Yes. But I'm not about to give him that. "Oh, please." I scoff, turning my head away.

"Besides, my act got her to shut up faster." He adds on, nudging me. "You're welcome, jew."

I give him a brief stare, considering what he says. That might be true. If he resisted she'd probably just make us listen to her long winded speech for even longer. But at the same time, I'm not about to thank this asshole. "We wouldn't even have been in this situation if you didn't randomly start shitting on jews." I remind him. He lets out a laugh.

"You're the one that decided to punch me." Cartman retorts, quirking an eyebrow at me. "But I guess you had to defend your little jewish girlfriend, right?"

That same venom from before returns to his voice. I give him a leveled stare, challenging that aggression again. But not for long. If it ended up escalating, it's not worth getting into another fight. We'd end up getting suspended. I take my eyes away from him and sigh.

"She's not even my girlfriend. And she's not going to be." I tell Cartman, my voice dismissive. "I just have to shake her off somehow."

"And so the tragic saga of getting chased by girls continues." Cartman chides with a scoff.

Jesus christ. He is ridiculously fucking salty. I should've figured he would be, to be honest. Of course with all the shit he gives me for being a 'covetous jew,' he's actually ended up being the one coveting. I pause as I see the door open from the corner of my eye.

"You know, if you weren't such a dick you could actually get a girlfriend." I mutter to Cartman. He seems to become silent when I say this, giving me this utterly blank stare. As if he didn't understand what I just said. Please. He does know how to behave, he just doesn't want to.

"Okay, let's go Eric." A stern voice orders bitterly.

My eyes automatically leave Cartman and I lay my eyes on Buck. He's a middle aged man, sporting grey streaks in his dark brown hair and faded green eyes. He stands at 6'5' and is wearing a buttoned shirt and tie. His work clothes. He probably just got off work, or is going soon. I'm not sure of his hours. But either way, he looks irritated. I can see it written clearly on his face that his time is being wasted.

I turn my head back to Cartman to see that his expression has darkened. His jaw is set tight and his eyes are narrowed. Yeah. Stan's wrong. There's no way Cartman likes Buck in any way, shape or form. That's pure hatred in his eyes. Probably only set there because Buck is married to his Mom and controls considerable amounts of Cartman's life now.

In all honesty, that's pretty typical for a stepfather situation.

Begrudgingly, Cartman stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Kahl needs a ride home." He tells Buck.

Buck seems to stare confused at Cartman, and then takes a steady stride over to me. "Do you?"

I nod silently at first, hesitating for a moment before I speak. "Yeah."

"And you want to ride with the kid that pissed you off enough to punch him." Buck questions, raising an eyebrow.

I stare up blankly at him for a moment, seeming dumbfounded or distracted. Jesus. I can't believe they make people this tall. I shake those thoughts out of my head and nod again. "My other friends are busy. And my parents are out of town." I explain to him.

Buck's eyebrows raise slightly. It seems like he fought the need to sigh. "Okay. Get in the car." He says, striding outside. Both Cartman and I follow him out to his car and I notice that Cartman seems pretty rigid. The walk to the car is oddly silent.

I watch Buck's intimidating height lower into the front seat. He's usually busy at work, so there haven't been many opportunities to talk to him. I only ever saw him on his wedding with Liane. Cartman wasn't there, so I didn't get to see the two of them interact. Though if I had to live with Cartman, I'd probably be pretty pissed all the time too.

Cartman always calls shotgun and I don't want the fuss, so I take the backseat. As I hook up my seatbelt, Cartman scoots in and takes the seat next to me.

"... No shotgun?" I ask him. The seat's completely open. Cartman's eyes shift over to me, still irritable.

"No." He answers flatly.

Hm.

I hear the start of the engine and settle a little in my seat, remembering Buck's presence. "Hey uh… sorry about this, Buck."

"S'okay. I was picking up this kid anyway." Buck shrugs off, pulling out of the parking lot. I give a simple nod of agreement. As he backs up he leans over to glance at me. "Speaking of sorries, Kyle, sorry for Eric's crap. The kid's a disaster. Did he apologize yet?"

"Yeah-"

"You could fucking ask me, shithead. I'm right here." Cartman snaps, crossing his arms and glaring at Buck.

Buck nearly talks over Cartman with the quickness of his response. "Does it look like anyone wants to talk to you, kid?" He asks sternly, giving a look of annoyance to Cartman. "Thought you'd at least be smart enough to take a hint."

Oh. Wow. I blink a few times, then look over at Cartman. He's shrunken into his seat with his eyebrows furrowed even more as he looks at his knees.

As Buck starts the drive down the road, I get this sinking feeling in my stomach. The fact that there's this unspoken tension that I'm caught in the middle of is unsettling, to say the least.

We fall into silence and let the radio play as Buck drives down the street. He glances over at me through the mirror. "So you got in a fight with him, huh? It doesn't seem like you're that banged up."

"Well, I didn't take any hits. My elbows got a little scraped though." I say honestly, scratching the back of my head.

"Leave it to Eric to get beaten up by a soft spoken kid half his size." Buck sighs.

Soft spoken? … I straighten my back and look at Buck, my eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I'm not half his size." I correct him, feeling a little self conscious about the firmness of my voice.

"Oh, don't mean to offend you Kyle. You just seem more like a thinker than a fighter." Buck adopts a friendly tone while saying this. He nods to Cartman. "This one over here, well, I guess he's neither."

I wouldn't say that. Cartman's both when he needs to be. … Usually.

"I've been in my share of fights. I'd say I'm pretty good at it." I argue, putting in a little bit of effort to curb the defensiveness in my tone.

"So you're smart, well mannered, and tough. Very nice, Kyle." Buck smiles. I'm not so sure how I feel about that compliment. It doesn't exactly diffuse the tension in the air, but, it's better than being called soft spoken. Buck turns his head to me when we reach a stoplight. "Your parents must be pretty proud of you."

I give an involuntary laugh at that. "Maybe." I sound so unsure as I say this.

Buck seems to pick up on that, and I'm regretting saying it. Somehow it's embarrassing. He shrugs. "Don't sell yourself short. I'd love to have a son like you."

"You'd be a shitty father." Cartman cuts in bitterly.

"Don't think I trust your experience on fathers." Buck retorts. Cartman looks straight at Buck, this silent rage in his eyes. Buck doesn't seem to be fazed, just simply unimpressed. "You wanna keep going or you gonna shut up?"

"Go fuck yourself." Cartman growls.

Buck turns away from him again and keeps his eyes fully on the road. "Sorry about this. Sometimes I just gotta put him in his place. He can be a real drama queen." Buck says with a condescending laugh.

Cartman seems to have his breath held. His knuckles are whitened, his lips are pursed, and his face is turning pink. At some points he almost seems like he's shaking. I'm waiting for the moment that he just screams, kicks Buck in the head and makes us crash.

But that doesn't happen. Cartman just sits there. He starts to exhale, shallowly at first. Needless to say, he's incredibly livid right now. I feel uncomfortable just watching him.

...Buck really knows how to get under his skin. Jeez. I feel a little bad, to be honest. But, I can't feel bad, right? I'm not exactly nice to Cartman when he's rude to me. Buck's just doing the same thing I do. But at the same time... it's a lot different from how I talk to Cartman.

We finally pull up to Cartman's house. Cartman and I live on the same street, so there's no real need to stop at my house. It's in view even from their driveway. I gaze at it - that big, silent, dark house…

"Well, I think you know your way from here, Kyle." Buck says jokingly as he steps out of the car. He steps over to my side of the car and pulls the door open for me. ...Well, that's considerate of him.

Just as I'm about to push myself off my seat, I feel a hand over my shoulder, holding me in place. I turn to Cartman and see his oddly concerned expression. At least… I think that's concern.

"How long are your parents gone?" He asks.

" 'Til next monday." I answer.

Unfortunately the twitch of Cartman's eyebrows doesn't do much to tell me about his train of thought… "Oh." Cartman says with a brief pause. "You should come over to my house if you get bored."

What? ...Okay, admittedly, it's not out of the ordinary for Cartman to invite me over. But he usually does it in a group setting. It's been years since he's ever exclusively invited me to hang out with him. So why now when we literally just fought? His bouts of hatred for me usually last longer than a day, and it's probably only been an hour.

"Eric," Buck uses a scolding tone as he addresses Cartman. "If you think you're gonna have any friends over when you're grounded, you're an idiot." He pulls open the door for Cartman. "Go to your room."

Well… guess there won't be any hanging out anyway. Cartman shuts his eyes for a moment, as if mustering up patience, and pulls himself out of the car. It's strange to see him interact with a parent that's not like his mother. I guess he's still adjusting to Buck. I get out of the car myself, and make my way to the house without another word.

The first thing I do when I step into my house is start making myself some food. Mom and Dad have left me a couple of microwave dinners for the week. ...I guess they don't trust my cooking skills. As it's heating up I can't help but think back to Cartman's total 180. First he aggravates me enough to punch him in the face, next he wants me to hang out with him.

I don't know. Maybe that was his way of actually apologizing. I don't know what brought that hate speech on, but he definitely wanted me to get pissed. So why would he suddenly be offering to hang out...?

I vaguely hear my microwave beep and I huff in of frustration. God dammit. What is wrong with that asshole? I swear to god. Trying to figure him out is like trying to decode binary while being dyslexic.

I want to get it out of my head. But I'm really not sure what else I'd want to do right now. Video games, maybe…? Maybe I'll look up some videos to watch. I know I'm not hanging out with Stan today, he's been weird about the Lesley stuff. Maybe I should give him his space…

As if thinking about Stan summoned him, my phone suddenly buzzes in my pocket. Oh boy. What's he gonna ask me this time…? I brace myself and pull out my phone.

Wait. ...It's Cartman texting me.

I unlock my phone and read his text: **'he said it's only for today.**

**ill be outta this shithole tmrrw'**

I narrow my eyes confused, and text back to him. 'They let you keep your phone when you're grounded?'

And here I thought Buck was strict.

**'no :)'**

What the fuck? He types again: **'i have a secret cellphone'**

'what? explain'

**'lol. i pretended i lost my phone a while ago and waited till they gave me a new one.**

**i just keep this one hidden for when they ground me'**

Jesus. I sit down on the couch and text back to him.

'That's fucked up, Cartman. Phones are expensive.'

**'listen jew'**

Knew that was coming.

**'i have needs. u really think im gonna go w/o internet for 2 weeks'**

'You could just behave and not get grounded'

**'ur ideas man**

**so boring**

**im falling asleep kyel**

**from ur boring ideas'**

I crack a little bit of a smile. Honestly, that is pretty clever. I guess even if Buck's trying to be strict, Cartman still manages to find ways to be his usual dickish self.

'If I'm so boring then why would you want me over at your house?'

**'couldnt make me more bored than i already get over here'**

'What about video games?'

**'played em. bored with em.'**

I furrow my eyebrows. There's obviously replay value in at least some of his video games.

'Not content just browsing the internet?'

**'god damn kyel, im not gonna bomb you'**

I guess that's his way of asking me why I sound like I don't wanna come over. But, I'm just more concerned with why he wants me over now. ...Maybe I should just be straightforward with him.

'What was with you today anyway? Why'd you start going off like that infront of Jennifer?'

...His response is taking a little long. I lie back and stare at my screen, waiting in silence for an answer.

**'idk i was bored'**

I can't fight my frown. Bored?

'That's ALL?'

**'what, u still bothered? dont tell me ur feelings actually got hurt from just that'**

'No, they didn't. I was just expecting more motivation than just boredom.'

**'r u disappointed'**

'No, I just don't believe you. It CAN'T just be boredom.'

**'shits not the way it used to be kyle**

**its not 4th grade anymore'**

…

I feel a slight sinking in my chest. 4th grade was so long ago, I forgot what the norm was back then. It is a lot different now.

'so you just wanted to get punched in the face, like old times?'

**'basically'**

'That sounds masochistic.'

**'trust me, its not.**

**i just wanted SOMETHING to happen.'**

And now I can't stop thinking about those old days. I let my phone drop to my side, settling my head against the couch cushions. Man… it was so crazy back when we were ten. I don't think I really realized how nuts everything was, back in those moments. Only when I look back at them. ...Shit was fucked up. I can't even remember the last crazy thing that's happened recently.

Randy totaled his car..? That's about it...

The only things that are close to interesting now is the shit they let on TV and… Cartman, I guess.

...Huh… I guess, I never thought about how Cartman felt about all that crazy shit just vanishing into thin air.

Me, I was happy to be rid of it. Having a life that was normal was all I ever wanted back when I was a kid. I always resented the insanity that passed through the town, but Cartman… Cartman lived for that insanity. He always made it his own.

I guess it does make sense… for him to miss those days.

With a sigh I look back to my screen, simply staring at the words. Then I pull up the text entry again.

'You should probably find a hobby, dude.'

Maybe that sounds mean. But it's more for the idea of him finding a better alternative than... looking for fights. He'd be better off just finding something creative to put that energy into. Something that wasn't so dangerous. He's got enough on his record as it is…

Cartman doesn't say anything after that. I wait thirty minutes or so for a text back. But nothing. I know he has tougher skin than that… he's probably being stubborn again. I toss my phone to the side and sigh. Maybe that's what feels so strange about him, sometimes. He just has a lot of energy that he has no way to get out. I don't know if that's worse for him or the people around him. But it's probably both. ...I can just feel the worry sinking into me.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Cartman’s been a little easier to talk to today. Throughout the school day he’s been sending me texts, not particularly friendly, but not malicious either. Just his usual brash personality that I’ve grown used to over the years. By the end of the school day I feel like I’ve seen him more often than I usually do. He even goes as far as to sit next to me on the bus, as opposed to Kenny or Butters, which is a bit uncommon.

 We’ve actually gotten to talking about the old days, reminiscing, which is also odd for us. I do this kind of thing all the time with Stan, but Cartman’s not the type to bring up things from our childhoods. But of course, the things he brings up are the pranks he’s pulled on me over the years. God. He’s talking about that one summer when we were 11.

"That was fucking disgusting, dude.” I growl, not even trying to hold back a glare. “I had to take 4 showers just to get the smell out of my hair.” Cartman just can’t stop smiling.

 "Dude, it was fucking awesome.” He snickers with a huge grin on his face. “God Kahl, if you saw the fucking face you made, the sounds that came out of your mouth…” He stops, choking down a laugh in his throat. God, I can just _hear_ him remembering it.

 “You could’ve gotten me infected with something. Who knows whose piss that even was.” I say reluctantly, not wanting to even remember how it felt to get doused with that crap. I swear to god, some almost got in my mouth. Then I definitely would’ve gotten sick.

Cartman pauses, giving me a stare, and his grin stretches wider. “Who d’you think? It was all mine.”

 ...What the fuck?! I swear to god I feel my face goes pale. I shoot up from my seat with my teeth gritted, staring wide eyed at Cartman. “YOU FILLED A FUCKING SUPER SOAKER WITH YOUR OWN--” My last words come out muffled as I feel a little bit of a sting. In my confusion and anger it takes me a few seconds to realize Cartman’s smacked his palm over my lips, pulling me down. But he’s still got this huge grin on his face. He’s trying his fucking damndest not to laugh. Jesus fucking christ, did he really..?!

 “Hey, shut ya stinkin’ mouths!” The bus driver calls from his seat. Probably provoked from the noise I caused. Oh… now that I look around, a few of our other classmates are staring strangely at me. I must’ve been really loud.

 Cartman leans in a little closer to me lips pursed, doing his best not to burst out laughing at my reaction. This fuckin dickhead…

 “It wasn’t really piss, Jew,” He snickers. I stare at him, raising an eyebrow as he slowly removes his palm from my lips.

 I stare apprehensively at him, speechless. “What?”

 Cartman covers his mouth and snorts. “It was just water with pee scent,” He chokes out, his voice strained as he tries not to laugh. “You thought it was pee..!! For 6 whole years!” His voice is high and strained with the need to laugh. It’s not long until he breaks into fits of manic laughter, the hand on his face covering all except his mouth.

 Okay… I’d be lying if I said hearing that crazy laughter he does sometimes didn’t make me want to smile. It’s contagious. But still, I’m skeptical, so I keep a straight face. “But, it was.. warm… did you heat it up?” I ask, coming to the obvious conclusion there.

 Cartman sighs amusedly, trying to slow his breath. “Yeah, I had to. It had to be perfect. And it was.” He settles in his seat again, clears his throat, and looks at me with that ever present smile. “God, that was fucking amazing. The good old days, huh, Kahl?” He nudges me with his elbow.

 The good old days. I can feel some kind of unfamiliar pull in my chest. “The sometimes good old days.” I say, meeting his eyes with a slight smile.

 There’s a brief pause between us. For a moment Cartman just holds his gaze with mine as the sound of the crappy bus rattles on in the background. I don’t really know how to describe the feeling that just passed through us. But, it was very much there.

 With a sigh Cartman settles against the seat of the bus, slumping a bit. “When’s the last time we had an adventure?” He asks.

 “Hrm… We got lost in the mountains in April.” I mention. Cartman rolls his eyes.

 “Please. That was almost as boring as that one time we went ziplining.” He scoffs. “Nothing happens around here anymore. Guess the aliens really did get bored of us.”

 “...Right. The aliens.” I repeat. I wonder if that’s supposed to be an inside joke between him and Kenny or something.

 Cartman releases a frustrated sigh. “Nothing interesting’s happened since middle school. So I guess that’s it for us.”

 Jesus, he sounds so disheartened. Hearing Cartman’s voice that way is always so weird. When is he ever like this..?

 I shrug my shoulders, my eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Like I said, you should find a hobby.” I say nonchalantly. I don’t want to seem overly worried. It’s probably not appropriate to be.

 Cartman scoffs. “The fuck kinda hobby is gonna give me a rush?”

 “...Sports?” I suggest. I can’t help cracking a smile saying it.

 Cartman looks blankly at me for a moment, then his expression quickly turns unamused. “Ha ha ha ha ha. Sports.” He repeats sarcastically.

 “Dude, I don’t know. Be a roller coaster enthusiast.” I shrug.

 “There’s not even roller coasters in town, Kahl. I’m not going out of town every time I wanna have fun.” He groans.

 “Yeah.. that’s kind of the curse of a quiet little mountain town.” I have to admit. Even though usually being a small town hadn’t mattered for years, it’s surprisingly limiting now. I don’t personally mind, but it makes sense why it sucks for Cartman.

 After a few more bouts of silence, we reach our stop. Stan, Kenny, Cartman and I all have the same stop and so we all walk home together. Stan doesn’t seem too talkative lately, but Cartman talks up a storm. He mentions that we should all go out to the mountains again and I have to remind him that I have to do chores and get groceries. He seems a little dejected at that.  But I can’t go. I really do have to take care of the house until my family gets home.

 By 7 PM I’ve come home with groceries -- I bought as much as I can; 8 bags straining between my fingers that make red marks by the time I put them down. I silently sort the groceries into their rightful places in the fridge. It’s kind of relaxing in a way. I don’t mind a bit of silence.

 Fifteen minutes pass and I sit down and go over the material for Calculus on the couch. For some reason it seems like squandering the elbow room if I study in my room.

 I hear a ring from my cell and pull it from my pocket. It’s mom.

 “Kyle! What do you think you’re doing?!” She shouts through the phone, and I flinch in response. Jesus, why’s she being so loud?

 "I’m at home studying.” I answer with an even voice, though by my tone I’m obviously caught off guard by hers.

 “Don’t give me that, young man! What have you been up to?! Jennifer said you were acting very wild!” She tells me aggressively.

 “What? What are you talking about?” I ask, confused. But then again… I guess Jennifer’s impression of me at school could’ve gone better.

 “What did you do, Kyle?! Why did she say that?! Is Stan getting you into drinking?!” Mom shouts.

 What the fuck..? “No!” I react a little aggressively. “Jesus, Mom! I just got into a fight. With _Cartman._ ”

 "Young man, you should know better than to act so violent in front of a lady. What, do you want her to think you’re some kind of crazed animal? Do you think she wants that kind of man around her children?”

 She’s talking about kids now, too. This is ridiculous… “Mom, he was belittling jews again. Do you want me to just pretend I’m fine with what he’s saying or do you want me to stand up for our people?”

 “Don’t use that tone with me, Kyle! Eric Cartman is poorly raised. You are not! You have the self control to not throw yourself into stupid situations!” She says with a sharp scolding tone.

 I go quiet. My face burns in a wash of embarrassment. There’s something really shameful about Mom calling me stupid that always gets me.

 “I hope you’re happy, young man. I hope you know your poor choice of actions are ruining your chances with that nice girl.” Mom scolds me.

 I grit my teeth. “I didn’t even like her.” … That probably wasn’t a good idea. Fuck. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears.

 “I swear to god, Kyle!” My Mom raises her voice. “I take time out of my day to matchmake girls for you while you sit back and do nothing but turn them down over and over again! I’m trying to build your future, but you’re doing everything possible to make this difficult for me!”

 “Good!” I spit suddenly. Shit, what am I doing--? “Maybe if you quit fucking suffocating me with all this _bullshit_ I’ll be able to find somebody I actually like!” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can think. Before I can really decide if that's even what I wanted to say...

 Shit..! Did I really just-?! Fuck! I feel the air rush out of my chest. My thumb quickly goes to the hang up button and I toss my phone away from me, reflexively shoving a pillow over it. My arms are locked up, stiff and straight against the cushion separating me and my phone. I exhale in quick, shallow puffs of breath.

 …. Did I really… just do that…? Just… vocally spite .. Mom?

 … No, no, no. No.

 It’s not a big deal.

 I mean, what’s she gonna do?

 Drive home just to yell at me?

 ...

 It’s fine. Now that I’ve voiced my feelings, she’ll consider them. Right?

 She won’t think of this as me disrespecting her. She’ll consider my side and stop forcing me into these relationships with girls I don’t like. ...Right..?

 Suddenly, I nearly leap out of my seat when I hear an insistent knock at the door. Mom--..? No, that doesn’t make fucking sense. What am I, stupid?

 I’m certainly acting that way so far…

I pull myself off the couch and hesitantly saunter towards the front door. … Maybe it’s Stan…

 Do I really wanna answer..?

 I shift my weight to the balls of my feet and look through the peephole.

 ...Cartman’s there.

 I turn and walk away. Maybe I should just lock myself in my room and pretend I went to sleep. Or maybe I can sneak out the window. Hide in Stan’s room until Mom decides to be reasonable with me. There has to be some way out of this. There has to be…

 “Kahl!” I hear from the door. “You gotta hear this! I got the most awesome idea!”

 I turn to face the door again. What is he talking about? Did he finally come up with another scheme after all this time? “..What are you talking about?” I ask, not moving.

 “I can’t tell you out here. Open up!” He calls.

 I step forward. The anxiousness from my mom is consuming my thoughts. No matter what Cartman has to offer, I’d rather deal with him than sit in silent fear of my Mom.

 When I open the door, Cartman’s there with a bright, confident smile stretched across his face.

 “I figured it out.” Cartman says gleefully, inviting himself in the house. “I know a hobby I can pick up that’ll give me a rush.”

 With the way his shoulders are squared and his hands are on his hips, he’s reeking of confidence in this idea. So admittedly, he’s got me curious. “Okay, what is it?” I ask.

 “It’s fuckin _genius_ .” He assures me with a grin. I catch a glimpse of a sweat droplet rolling down his neck, so I guess the idea was so amazing he ran to my house. “And it’s so obvious I’m surprised I didn’t think of it sooner. Dude, you’re gonna _love_ it.”

 My eyebrow furrows a little bit. He’s trying to hype me up. “Dude, just say it already.”

 “Okay, so get this.” Cartman begins, clasping his hands together in a quick clap. “We both mutually agree to have a fist fight with each other and the first one to say Uncle or get knocked on their ass loses. I get a huge satisfying rush out of it, and you get to take your pent up frustration out on me.”

 ...He can’t be serious.

 “ _What?_ ” I say in utter confusion. From how excited he is about this, I don’t think he’s joking. “ _That’s_ your idea of a hobby? Two people beating the shit out of each other?”

 Cartman doesn’t look the least bit discouraged, but he was probably expecting that reaction. “We don’t even have to worry about getting too hurt! If you want to stop you just gotta say Uncle!”

 “What the hell made you think this was a good idea?” I ask, legitimately confused by his train of thought. “I mean, do you know how masochistic you sound?”

 Cartman closes his distance and grips my shoulders, looking me in the eye. “Kahl, think about this. I mean really think about it. Just the other day you punched me in the face. We fought for like 10 seconds. Just 10 seconds. Didn’t you feel that rush? The pure adrenaline and heat pumping through your veins? How _good_ it felt?”

 I blink rapidly. “It didn’t feel good at all. You were being a dick.”

 Cartman scoffs. “That’s just because there was shit attached. Come on, you gotta try it out. Fight me just to fight me. You’ll feel fucking great.”

 ...I can’t believe I’m even considering this. I shouldn’t be. ...No. I definitely shouldn’t be.

 “It’s not happening, Cartman. Find another hobby. One that’s at least safer.” I tell him sternly.

 Cartman gives me a leveled stare. But I’m not conceding on this. If anything, fist fights are just gonna make things worse. And there’s no guarantee the whole “uncle” shit would even stop someone if they were tunnel visioned into the fight. It couldn’t work.

 “You’re right, Kahl. I’ll have to find something else that gives me a rush.” Cartman says with a shrug, turning away from me. “Joyriding seems pretty fun.”

 … “Dude.”

 “Actually, I’m pretty sure I can just dig into my Mom’s cocaine stash.” He says in a matter of fact tone. “Maybe I was just being too judgemental of her in the past. Maybe I really should just have a crack at it.”

 “Cartman, that’s not funny!” I snap angrily. Jesus, I really can’t tell if he’s being serious lately. It’s driving me nuts!

 He swiftly turns around making eye contact again, his confidence returning to him. “Let’s go to the backyard.”

 … Did he really just… Did I fall for that…? ...But.. “...Fine.” I say, crossing my arms. I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. What am I, ten? Am I regressing back to roshambo esque entertainment? Either way, we’ll get this over with at least. I open the sliding door and let Cartman pass through, following him out.

 “But we’re setting up rules.” I tell him firmly.

 “Go ahead, Jew.” He agrees, shooting me this assured grin.

 Christ. What is with you, Fatass. “Aside from the ‘if you get knocked down, it’s over,’ and the ‘say uncle’ rule… No aiming for the head or face. That’s dirty.”

 “Oh yeah, definitely,” Cartman nods. “And no nut shots. You always went for the balls, jew.”

 I resist the need to roll my eyes. And did he really have to refer to it as a ‘nut shot?’ “No sucker punching either. If we’re gonna do this it should be as controlled as possible.”

 “Yeah yeah. You and your control.” Cartman waves off. “But that’s it. No more rules. You’re gonna suck the fun out of it.”

 “Okay.” I straighten my back and square my shoulders, moving so that I’m standing across from Cartman. I look him over for a moment. A tall, chunky broad shouldered teen, who now has at least a good 6 or 7 inches on me. ...How am I even supposed to knock him down?

 Cartman smiles at me confidently, bouncing on his heels a little and pumping himself up. And now I’m starting to feel it too. That anxious feeling I get when I know a fight’s coming. Little bursts of energy filling my chest.

 “Okay…” I say steadily, bracing myself. “On the count of three.”

 I stare into his eyes. Just watching him smirk like that, in almost a taunting manner gets me riled up a little. But not enough to fight like this. But whatever. I’m gonna try.

 “One…” Just think of that argument on the phone. “Two…” Channel that anger into this. “... _Three!”_

 I lunge forward, pulling my fist back in an attempt at a wide swing. I can see he’s rushing towards me too, but -- I missed -- and --

 I slam against the ground, lying flat on my back.

 ...What.

 I’m stunned for a moment. Processing what just happened. But then I see Cartman bending over me, looking at me like I’m an idiot. But what was with that shit he just pulled?

 “You _pushed_ me!” I shout sitting up quickly and giving him an incredulous look.

 Suddenly, Cartman starts laughing. “You charged at me!” He says through his laughter.

 The fuck is he talking about? I stand up and dust off the back of my legs and ass, glaring at him. “So you push me? I thought we were _fighting_ , not pushing!”

 “Never been pushed in a fight, jew?” Cartman asks with a smug look on his face. “We’re not boxing, we’re fighting. That means punching, kicking, pushing, whatever.”

 “How’s that fair, if you’re just gonna push me?! I’m way lighter than you, and you’re like, immovable! That means whenever I go near you, you can just push me over and I’ll lose!”

 “Yeah, if you’re planning to just barrel into me like that, Kahl. Use your brain. It’s not like you never knocked me down before.”

 The fucking nerve of him..! I rip off my hat and run my hands through my hair. It’s crazy how overheated I’m getting just from yelling at him. “Fine. But we’re doing that again. Two out of three.”

 “Fine.” Cartman shrugs. He even manages to be smug as shit when _shrugging._ “Cartman, one, Kahl, zero.”

 “What? No, that doesn’t count as a point!”

 “Oh yeah it does.” Cartman says stubbornly. “Suck it up, jew. You get handed everything else on a silver platter. You can deal with me having a slight advantage in this one fight.”

Like this is only a _slight_ advantage for him. … .. No. No, I’m making it sound like this is an unfair fight. Just because Cartman’s bigger than me doesn’t mean he’s a better fighter. In fact, I can fight _way_ better than he can.

 I toss my hat to the pavement of the porch and stand up, ready for the next fight. “One… two… three!” His arms thrust out again, looking to shove me to the ground again, but this time I know better. Instead I tag him by punching his shoulder, keeping my distance. I have to. I don’t have a choice. If he gets one swing on me again, that’ll be another point. And then he’ll brag about how easily he beat me. Fuck that. That’s _not_ gonna happen.

 He locks eyes with me, waiting for me to get close again. His pupils are growing with engagement. He’s already starting to get the rush he was talking about. How the hell am I supposed to get that? I’m not like him… For me, this doesn’t have a point. Even though my heart’s beating faster, and I’m starting to bounce on my toes too. But that’s just from movement. Because I _have_ to keep moving.

 On the second swing towards his arm, his free hand grabs mine, and suddenly he’s pulling me into him. Shit, no! I’m not letting him knock me down again! I latch onto him as he tries to swing me away, planting my feet firmly on the ground. With some effort I manage to pry his fingers off my hand, and land a punch in his chest, making him stagger back.

 “Aaahh..!” Cartman hisses in pain, gripping his chest.

 Oh god. “Shit, dude, you okay?” I ask. That probably really hurt him. Cartman frowns at me.

 “That’s the point, Jew!” Cartman spits. “Don’t you dare start holding back! It’s _supposed_ to hurt!”

 “Dude, I _can’t_ hit you like that! I just feel bad! I’m not mad at you!” I say exasperated.

 “God dammit, Jew! Think of something that makes you mad!” He shouts, swinging a fist at my gut. I jump back in time and he narrowly misses.

 “That’s not how it works! I can’t just will anger into myself!” Shouldn’t that be obvious? I’m don’t even bother to throw a punch now, because this is ridiculous.

 “Yes you can! You’re just scared!” Cartman insists. Like hell I’m scared, I just don’t want to fight someone for no reason! Before I know it Cartman grips onto my shirt and pulls me up a little. “Just like how you were scared of your Mom after you grew some balls and yelled back at her today.”

 … … He… he knows about that..?

 “Yeah, I could hear you.” He tells me, narrowing his eyes. “Your voice was shaking when you yelled, too. Then you just went dead silent. Because you can’t stand the thought of talking back to your bitch of a mom.”

 ...This bastard...

 I can feel those piercing eyes sizing me up. Judging me. “Y’think she’ll be disappointed when she gets home?”

 I can practically hear my blood boiling. “LIKE I GIVE A FUCK!” I shout, squeezing the wrist of that hand on me, and plunge my knee into his stomach. Finally he lets go, buckling from the force and I shove him to the floor. I can hear a wheeze of pain from him, even through the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. He wasn’t supposed to hear _any_ of that.

 “There! I’m fucking MAD! Are you happy now, you asshole?!” I shout at him as he lies on the ground. I hear him laughing through his breath. Even though it should confuse me, it just pisses me off more.

 “Yeah, I am…” He grits, pushing himself up. Suddenly, he’s back up on his feet, rushing at me. He grabs both my arms and I swear to fucking god I can feel the pulse through his hands. “Glad you’re finally growing your balls back!” He says through ragged breath.

 I push back against him, the balls of my feet digging into the ground as I feel the force of his arms and weight bearing down on me. “Don’t fucking say that like I ever lost them!” I growl. Suddenly I duck down so his weight is thrown off balance, and I take that moment to plow into his stomach, taking him to the ground in a full forced tackle.

 It takes me a few minutes to process, while he’s lying on the ground in pain, that I just got two points in his dumb… “fight”.. game. But when I do, I throw my arms up in victory. “There! I beat you, even with that extra stupid point you gave yourself! Suck my fucking dick!” I shout through my own dry breath. I finally begin to notice how much I’m panting and sweating.

 Cartman looks a lot worse for wear, gripping his stomach and wincing. But he manages to look up at me. “How do you feel?”

 "...”

 I lower my arms and think about this. ...I feel… “Mostly tired.”

 Cartman sits up, looking expectantly at me. “And?”

 … “Yeah. Okay.” I say simply, exhaling in relief. I reach my hand out to him to help him up. He actually does take it, stumbling up and patting me on the back.

As much as I hate to admit when Cartman’s right about something… I really did need to blow off some steam. And the fact that there’s no hard feelings afterwards is… relieving. I have to admit… it felt… good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading that, because it was incredibly, INCREDIBLY fun to write. And before you as, yeah, pee scented spray is sold at stores that sell prank toys.


	7. Chapter 7

"Fucking hell jew, you did a number on me."

I almost miss his comment when he says it, being wrapped up in finishing off my homework. Even with my body still tingling from that… new 'hobby' of Cartman's. Cartman steps out of the bathroom wearing a thin tank top.

"What, your arm?" I ask him, since that was the area I aimed for the most in that fight. There doesn't seem to be any marks from what I can see.

Cartman leans over and pulls down the middle of his tank top and in the middle of his chest there's this dark pink mark - where I punched him. My eyebrows furrow a little at just the sight. I guess I should be thankful I put that face shot rule in place. There wouldn't be a convincing way to explain a black eye to someone.

"It did feel like I hit hard." I admit.

"Uh, yeah you did." Cartman laughs. "Guess I'm not hugging anyone for a day or two."

I look at him questioningly. "Who would you be hugging anyway?"

" _Wow,_ " Cartman huffs, "I guess not you, you asshole,"

Hah. Well. "Please. You're not even a huggy person."

Cartman takes a seat next to me on the couch, relaxing into it. "I'm not against giving hugs. I'm just not a Butters about it."

"Thank god."

The conversation's so casual. As if I wasn't screaming at the top of my lungs at Cartman before. I mean, we were so pissed before, even if it was kind of a forced fight. And now we're just… sitting in a comfortable silence. But I guess now that I think about it, we've had moments like this before. Even if we had a real fight and were legitimately pissed. Cartman could've kicked me in the balls one day and the next day we'd be having a sleepover and laughing our asses off at stupidly offensive jokes. I guess I just never thought about that before.

Cartman's got the TV turned on to wheel of fortune. Thankfully the show's just white noise to me, so it's not that distracting from homework. Or my thoughts.

"Really though… becoming an adrenaline junky probably isn't natural, Cartman." I decide to say. Because this has been on my mind recently. "The rest of us have settled into a nice, quiet life. Just give it a chance, you might be able to too."

Cartman turns to me with this perplexed face. "What're you talking about? You loved that fight."

"...Love's a bit of an overstatement. And you're missing the point." I say with a frown. "You haven't really given the more natural, quiet life a chance."

Cartman returns a frown. He turns off the TV and turns toward me, putting an arm over the headrest of the couch. "Well, let's put on our nerd glasses and analyze this for a second, Kahl. Was the human race designed to put on a tie and scribble marks while sitting in a desk, or was it designed to hunt, scheme, and _fight_ to survive?"

.. "So what, you're gonna start hunting too?" I ask.

"I'm just saying Jew, we have adrenaline for a _reason,_ " He says firmly, punctuating with his hand, "The least we could do is exercise it a little."

"And you just said the word exercise." I say almost by instinct, with a raise of my eyebrow. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

Cartman sighs. "This 'exercise' is better than sitting around in a room all day."

For a moment I'm silent, and then I shrug. "You get used to it."

"No, you _don't,_ " He snaps.

"Dude, what jumped up your ass?"

"Nobody 'gets used to' being bored. They just don't do anything about it. And then they wonder why they have all these fuckin' emotional problems." He huffs, crossing his arms. "I mean look at Stan. He used to do shit. He used to sink ships and save people's lives, for fucks sake. And he didn't even give a shit if he got people's approval. Now all he wants is the approval on this one stupid chick and he doesn't even think about anything else. Like, really, _think_ about that, Jew. Did that _happen_ when his life was _interesting_?"

… "I mean… that's a pretty wide frame of time you're talking about. And Stan was younger back then, so, I don't know, dude. Maybe he just grew up. I mean, he is the oldest out of all of us. Maybe that just happens with age." I argue. Somehow the idea of that doesn't seem any better.

I can see the frustration subtly seeping into Cartman's expression as he slumps against the couch. It's similar to that expression he gave me in the bus. "I hate it, Kahl. I hate being domesticated."

"... Dude. I'll still do the fights with you. It's not that big a deal." I say. I wish I could understand why this is so important to him. But I guess I'm just differently wired.

"No- … .. Well." Cartman mutters. "The fights definitely help."

We both go silent. The tension hasn't quite dissipated yet. I can't help but feel awkward… I silently answer another question in my packet.

"But yeah… Stan really is obsessing over Lesley. It's ridiculous. I guess he's gonna have to learn the hard way to give up on her." I shrug, trying to change the subject a little.

Cartman turns to me with a blank face, before shaking his head and laughing. "Shit dude, he's gonna get mauled."

"Uhh," I ask looking up from my homework. "What do you mean?"

His energy suddenly returns to him as he sits forward again, clearing his throat. "Okay, so, you know how she's been the high school paper's writer since freshman year? I got curious, did a little digging, and found out something hilarious."

That can't be good. "Well, spit it out, dude."

"Every time she's broken up with someone she does this article for the girls. It's always something like, ' _What not to look for in a boyfriend_ ,' ' _Things that boys have actually said to me,'_ shit like that. And it's all, 100%, shade on her exes every year." Cartman says with a grin.

"What. Oh god."

"And because everyone in the school knows who she is, there's always somebody harassing her exes somewhere about how shitty a boyfriend they are." He's eating this up. Jesus, this is fucking Cartman gossip if I've ever heard it. "This one guy, Travis, made a huge post on his Facebook wall about how she was spreading lies and all the comments were ripping him apart! God, it was hysterical."

"You found all that out by, what, asking around?" I decide to interrupt. He could probably go on for hours about this, knowing him.

"Pfft, no, I just got my info from Wendy." Cartman replied. "She knew _all_ the details."

Wendy? … She has been showing concern recently. But they haven't dated in forever, so it's kinda strange… "Why was _she_ digging then? Is she worried about Stan or something?"

"Hell if I know." Cartman shrugs. "Maybe she just hates Lesley. You know chicks. You spill their macchiato and suddenly they have a ten mile list of offensive things you did for the past 2 years."

Maybe I really should convince Stan to dump her. Fuck my rule about staying out of this shit - if Lesley is gonna throw him under the bus, it's better he gets out of that relationship while he still has some dignity. And with those links and articles, I could convince him out of it pretty easily.

"Do you have the links on your phone?" I ask Cartman.

"No, but just ask Wendy." He answers. "Chicks are crazy, dude. They have everything fucking catalogued whenever they wanna drag someone. Fucking psychotic."

The hypocrisy is palpable.

"Is that your excuse for never finding a girlfriend?" I ask in a shamelessly snarky manner.

Cartman gives me a dulled, unimpressed look. But he kinda set himself up for that one.

"Actually," Cartman's demeanor changes as he leans back against the couch, locking eyes with me. "I'm pretty sure I'm single for the same reason you are."

…

Wait.

What? What does that mean?

What exactly is he claiming, here? Is this just a comeback to say, 'You're single too, asshole?' ...But I've actually had girlfriends before. Is he just saying he has ridiculously high standards, or.. is he accusing me of something?

Shit. He's staring at me. He's trying to read my reaction. Fuck. Don't. React.

"What does that even mean?" I ask him. My tone sounds almost monotonous. Shit.

He quirks an eyebrow at me, looking me over. Sizing me up, even. "Huh. I wonder."

… What is he _implying_?!

"Okay," I say, blinking rapidly and turning to my phone. "Whatever. I'm gonna message Wendy." I can still feel his eyes on me. It's giving me fucking goosebumps.

Don't think about it. I'm supposed to message Wendy about this Lesley thing...

I'm about to unlock my phone when I realize that I have a notification.

' **Young man, I did not raise you to be so disrespectful… I'm very VERY disappointed in your attitude. You have crossed the line far too many times already and I've just about lost my patience with you. Don't you dare think I'm going to forget about all of this by Monday. When we come home, you will realize just how nice I've been by comparison to what you've earned yourself.'**

Shit.

"Wow, I didn't think you could get any paler."

...Thanks, Cartman. I run my fingers through my hair and breathe deeply.

"I knew she'd be pissed." I speak through an exhale.

"You did curse at her." Cartman chuckles.

"I really don't appreciate the fact that you listened in on that." I grumble as I distractedly text Wendy. There's no way I'm responding to Mom's text. I already dug myself a hole, and I'm too paranoid that I'll just dig in deeper.

"You should. It was good fuel for your rage. Just think of your shitty Mom whenever we have those fights. By the way we should do that again tomorrow."

"... Tomorrow? You have a bruise, dude." I say concerned. Does he really wanna do this as a daily thing? Jesus, I don't know if I could handle that.

"Uh, so? It's a bruise. I'll live." Cartman shrugs.

I shake my head at him. "Dude, I swear to god, you're a masochist."

"No I'm not, I'm just not a baby, Kahl. You're probably gonna cry when I land a good punch on you and then never wanna do it again."

"Fuck off. When do I _ever_ cry?" I retort, looking up from my phone, and now I notice he's been looking right at me this entire time from across the couch. It kinda startled me, to be honest.

"You better not cry, because tomorrow I'm gonna kick your ass." He grins arrogantly.

My eyebrows come down. "Yeah right. The only reason you even got me on the ground today was because I didn't think shoving was part of the game."

"Nah. I was going easy on you."

I roll my eyes at this. "Like you'd let me have a fucking win."

Cartman shrugs. "It's gonna be your last one anyway. I might as well let you have _something."_

"Fuck off, Fatass."

"So, right after school, we're fighting here again, right?"

… "Yeah, sure."

We decide that we're going to have these fight sessions in the basement. It's unclear how often we're going to have fight sessions, but if I had to guess, it'll probably be for the next three days, provided nobody gets _too_ hurt. I'm going to clear up some space in my basement so Cartman and I don't break anything down there.

During our conversation Cartman brings up this movie called Fight Club and how the basement set up reminds him of it. Then, he makes an annoyingly huge deal about the fact that I've never seen it and insists that we have to. Which… is fine I guess. It's not like our group never has movie nights. But he's really persistent about this. So, I suppose one of these days he'll be bringing a movie over. I'm not sure when, he didn't say. But I hope it's before my Mom gets home.

She's definitely grounding me.

My eyes open to Friday morning. I can feel my heart sink as I cross it off on the calendar, considering it's getting uncomfortably close to being Monday.

I'm not at all surprised by the fact that I'll have this feeling of a stone in my stomach for probably the entire day. Or rather, until Mom comes home and gives me hell. But I try not to think about that. I try. I try with all my might to push it to the back of my mind and enjoy myself right now. Enjoy myself while I still have my freedom. While I still have my sanity…

God, this dread is a punishment in and of itself.

Finally the bus makes it to school and I drag myself towards first period. My eyes are burning. As you could probably guess, I didn't get much sleep last night. Nightmares. You could guess about what. Or who.

"Whoa, Kyle... you okay?" I catch Stan speaking in the corner of my eye and turn towards him.

"What?"

"Dude. You look like a zombie." He answers, staring at my face, which is probably pasty and complemented with sunken in eyes. "Maybe you should go home…"

"..." I grunt and rub my eyes, then shaking my arms awake. "I'll get over it." I say with a confident voice, looking Stan in the eye. I'm not gonna let Mom ruin the last few days I have to myself. Stan still stares at me with this confused, pitying look. "Anyway, how are things?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

Stan glances away. "Uh… with me? ...They could be better." He scratches the back of his neck and sighs. "I mean… you don't like hearing about me and Lesley, do you?"

...Oh, that's right. Lesley…

"Actually I have something important to show you."

We hang off to the side of the hallway and hunch over my phone so that nobody passing by bumps into us. I show him every link that Wendy sent to me last night, including the articles of her dragging her exes.

"I don't think you should be in a relationship with her anymore." I say honestly.

Stan meets my eyes with his own, expression full of doubt now. "... Kyle, I…" He cuts himself off, shoving his hands in his coat pockets and looking towards the ground.

"Seriously, dude. Don't. These articles thoroughly prove that Lesley's a bad person." I insist.

He shakes his head. "Just because she's mad? Kyle, I _know_ her exes, and those articles she wrote are right. They are assholes."

"...You _know_ them? How well?" I ask, my eyebrows coming down.

"Enough to know that Lesley's right about them." Stan says, sensing my skepticism and crossing his arms.

"So in other words, you don't know them." I retort, putting my hands on my hips and looking him in the eye.

Stan responds with a restrained scoff. "Like you're one to talk, Kyle. You barely know Lesley and you just automatically assume she's a bad person."

I blink rapidly and feel the anger bubbling up in my stomach. But still, I do my best to keep my tone calm and even. "I just gave you 8 links showing that she's willing to drag people she once 'loved.' What kind of good person _does_ that?" It still sounds a little angry.

"You're not listening to me, Kyle. I said she was hurt by them because they're assholes, and she she probably wanted revenge. That's not that bad." He says in an irritated tone.

"Why are you defending her?" I say in exasperation.

"Why are _you_ saying she's _lying_ about being hurt?" Stan shoots back.

"It doesn't matter if she's lying, that's fucking low, Stan! That's dishonest and passive aggressive!" I snap.

"That's what happens in relationships, Kyle! People get emotional, they do things with passion when they feel betrayed and hurt to hurt people back! You'd get it if you were in one!"

Fucking. Seriously?!

" _She doesn't care about you, Stan!_ " I shout at him, loud enough that he flinches back a little. "She's gonna do the same fucking thing to you and _she's not even gonna care!_ "

Besides my voice the halls have gone completely silent and I can see from the peripherals of my eyes that students have stopped and started to stare from a safe distance.

"God- seriously, Stan! How are you so fucking fucking blind?!" I say in an exasperated growl, feeling my fists tightening. "You have people who actually care about you, who give a shit about your feelings and respect you, and all you can do is give all your attention to someone who wouldn't even notice if you moved away tomorrow!"

... It feels like I've been holding that in for forever…

As I begin to catch my breath I realize that the only thing I hear at the moment is the sound of my inhales and exhales. Everyone else has gone dead silent and has been staring at me in surprise. That includes Stan. Good. It's about time he stopped only listening to Lesley.

...Oh… he's…

...Stan's eyes are glistening.

I watch silently as he discreetly blinks away the beginning of tears and he swallows thickly. He suddenly has no problem keeping eye contact with me, as if trying to concentrate on something. For a moment I open my mouth, seemingly ready to speak, but… I'm not really sure what to say at this point. ...Maybe I was too hard on him. I mean… he has been through a lot...

"I get it, Kyle…" He says quietly, eyes still locked with mine. I watch him with concern as a tear begins to trickle down despite all his effort. He's not gonna wipe that away. I know him. He's too proud for that.

...Shit… what do I even say...?

All of a sudden he grabs me, his arms wrapping tightly around me. My heart leaps and I stiffen immediately. Jesus. After all this, I forgot how strong Stan is.

"I get it, dude…" His voice is muffled when he says it again since he's burrowed his face into my shoulder.

God dammit, I can't think of anything to fucking say right now. My mind's completely blank. All I can think of is how tight his grip is on me. He's not letting go any time soon…

I glance around the hallway at the people still staring at us. They haven't uttered a single word. Or if they did, I didn't hear any of it.

I guess they can't think of anything to say either…

I relax into Stan's arms a little bit, leaning into him and rubbing his back comfortingly. As I do I feel him relax into me. Though, his grip on me hasn't loosened at all.

"Stan…" I begin, my voice soft and relieved. "I-"

"GET TO CLASS! EVERYONE!"

The booming sound of Heimberg, my Calculus teacher, makes me flinch though I can't move much because of Stan.

"The bell rang 2 minutes ago, ladies and gentlemen! Let's go, let's go!" Mr. Heimberg shouts as he herds the watching students away from us and towards their classrooms.

Shit- did the bell really ring..? How'd I miss it? I pull away from Stan who seems to finally realize he needs to get to Geometry, and as he pulls away he gives me an endearing smile. I can feel my chest fill with warmth.

"No PDA in the hallways, boys." Heimberg deadpans behind us.

Stan lets out a laugh at that. My god. Stan, letting out a real, genuine, happy laugh. I can't help the smile on my face. Maybe, just maybe, I made a breakthrough with him just now.

I head into my Calculus class and start the day, finally getting back into the swing of things and doing my work as normal. The events of Thursday are thankfully pushed to the back of my mind and I can focus on my work. Thank god… that text from Mom does still make my heart sink every time I think about it, but I've gotten to the point that it's not looming over me and overshadowing every part of my day. I'll deal with that when I have to deal with it.

As the day goes by I've noticed that Stan's much happier now. And I feel the same. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest after that confrontation so I can confidently say that I have no regrets about that fight. It was what we needed. ...It's odd… that there seems to be a growing value in conflict to me. Like it's almost… beneficial? But that _can't_ be right. Maybe it's just the silver lining of that particular dark cloud.

Speaking of silver linings, Kenny sent me texts during the day, asking my permission to go after Jennifer. So even though I am technically wasting an opportunity with someone who… did like me… I don't have to deal with my Mom saying I didn't try. Because if she accepts Kenny's approaches - which she probably will - I can just say she chose Kenny over me.

I mean I still didn't really try with Jennifer. But like I said. There was no… click. So I wasn't gonna force myself.

Kenny really is a life saver sometimes.

Then there's Cartman who's the odd one out today. To be perfectly honest, it's more normal than he's acted towards me lately. But comparatively, it's a 180. He gives me irritated glances every now and then and doesn't look at me beyond that. He ignores me pretty much for all of lunch and Speech class.

We weren't paired up today, but Ms. Wurt did give us the option to choose our own partner. Cartman chose Brian, the kid that he constantly calls a little bitch. I can't help but wonder about that.

On the bus home however, Cartman does manage to steal the seat before Stan sits next to me.

He seems to punctuate it too, just simply letting himself drop into the seat ass first, as opposed to sitting down like a normal person. He did it in front of Stan too, who gives him a confused look before finding somewhere else to sit.

"So Jew, you ready to get your ass kicked?" He says with a quirk of his eyebrow.

I can still tell that he's in a bad mood by the subtly gravelly quality in his voice. Which kinda sucks even more because of what I have to break to him.

"Actually, I can't." I sigh. "Stan wants to hang out today, so I'm taking him up on that."

I watch, bracing myself for the tantrum as Cartman's eyebrows furrow. "...The _fuck?_ " His voice seems to raise an octave. "No way. You made plans with me first, Jew!"

"This is a special situation, Fatass," I argue under my breath. Cartman's making a fuss about it but I don't want the whole bus to hear our conversation.

"Oh, is that right?" Cartman scoffs.

"Don't be a dick. I haven't been able to hang out with Stan much since he got with Lesley." I growl. "I'm not turning him down now."

"Fine Jew. Have fun making out with Stan." Cartman grumbles, giving me an increasingly irritated look. "But we're fighting tomorrow. Even if I gotta find you and make you fight me."

"I'm not gonna ditch you twice in a row, Cartman." I say with a roll of my eyes. "Who do you think I am?"

"A sneaky Jew who's chickening out of a fight." Cartman answers promptly. My only response is a swat of his arm. After that, he slumps in his seat, letting his eyes wander, before looking back at me and insisting that I better show up tomorrow. There's no need in repeating the same conversation twice. I'm going with Stan because for the first time in, months I'm pretty sure, that he's actually eager to hang out with me again. Cartman isn't the only important thing in my life. Not by a long shot. This is a good way to get that through to him as well.

So, when I make my way off the bus, Stan quickly catches up to me. He greets me and we talk for a little while, and before I realize it Cartman is nowhere to be seen. For a big fatass he sure is good at making silent getaways.

"Ready to go?" Stan asks, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. I nod at him with a smile, looking back at the sidewalk before following him to the driveway. ...I can't help but wonder what Cartman hurried off in a rush for. It seems… odd. I look back and realize that Stan is leading me to the car.

Oh. Okay. I figured we'd just hang out at home, but I'm alright with going out too.

"Where to?"

I pause for a moment. "Huh?"

An endearing smile stretches across Stan's face. "How long's it been since we went somewhere to hang out, just you and me?"

I blink and shrug. I've been so caught up with other things that Stan's just become a background noise lately. Geez… you should never be able to say that about your best friend.

"So let's go somewhere cool." Stan invites, opening the door for me.

… Is… ...wait. …

"... How about, uh… uhm…" I hesitate. "... How about Stark's Pond?"

That's fine, right?

Stan lets out a laugh. "Stark's Pond, oh man, Kyle. You're such a sucker for nostalgia."

"You know me," I say with a shrug and a half smile.

We get into the car, and my mind seems to return to me.

Stark's Pond, the place Stan and I would always go for sentimental one on one talks with Stan. We're not sneaking away or anything serious like that. This is what we've always done. We've always gone away from our group to just talk alone and get a better understanding of each other.

This isn't anything new.

It's just… been a while.

My heartbeats starting to regulate.

"Oh god,this song, dude," Stan nudges me and he turns up the volume. _Play The Game Tonight_ by Kansas is playing through his car's stereo. He starts to nod his head to the sound of the drums and I smile.

"Speaking of nostalgia..." I chuckle.

"Good old Kansas!" Stan finishes cheerfully before singing along with the stereo. We know these songs by heart. It's not long before I'm singing the lyrics along with him. He plays a whole playlist of Kansas songs, and we sing every word. Well, I almost do. Stan knows these songs a little better than I do. Almost obsessively. It's crazy.

I feel a deep warmth in my bones as I settle comfortably into the car seat. This feels… natural. We've been so distant lately, and now we've just snapped back into the same reliable rhythm we've known and loved for so long.

Just being here and having fun with my best friend. It's so… soothing.

It feels way longer than it's been, honestly.

We reach the trails that lead to Stark's Pond; the long winding path of forest that's survived the town's craziness after all these years. For most people the trails are confusing and can lead them in circles, but Stan and I know this forest like the back of our hands.

For us we can just walk leisurely along the trail, admiring the growth of the trees and casually kicking the powdery snow across the ground.

"God, even the ride here was great." Stan sighs contentedly.

"Kinda wish you'd stop letting go of the wheel though." I point out. "Who even air guitars anymore?"

"That wasn't air guitaring, dude, that was muscle memory. When you get one million on Guitar Hero, the button presses never leave." He says proudly.

"Huh. ...You know, I thought you might be doing that, but I didn't wanna ask." I say as I fight a smile.

"What does that mean?"

"You know, I just didn't think you were that much of a nerd."

Stan stops a few paces in front of me with a look of surprise on his face. "...A _nerd_ ," He laughs, "I can't remember the last time anyone called me a nerd."

"If they knew you as well as I do they'd call you a nerd too." I scoff playfully.

Stan gives me that same warm smile from before, returning to my pace.

"You're totally right." He shrugs. "You're like the only one who knows that nerdy side of me."

"And Cartman and Kenny,"

Stan immediately shakes his head. "No, dude. They don't know me like you know me. Not even close."

I put my hands in my pockets, listening intently because I know he'll continue.

"You know everything, dude. My taste in music, my flaws, my dislikes, my guilty pleasures…" Stan pauses to look me over. "It's like, I never had to act around you. Not even a little."

I can't help a light laugh. "That's so gay, dude."

"No, seriously, Kyle." Stan touches my shoulder, and even stops us from walking. "You know almost everything about me. We've been through so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He's smiling so warmly at me. There are some moments where he glances away or at the ground, but his eyes come right back up.

...Say something.

"I feel the same way," I say.

His smile stretches wider, and we continue to walk. "We used to be able to tell each other everything. Remember that?" I can tell by the tone of his voice that he's reminiscing.

"Yeah."

"It's been awhile since then, and.. I wanna get back to that point." Stan glances at me.

"I'm up for that,"

He gives me another glance. For a moment there's a hiccup in his step, and then he continues. "...Do you wanna tell me something, Kyle?"

… "What?"

"... You know." He says with his head forward, in a softer tone than before. "You never told me you were…"

Oh god.

I feel my body tighten up. Why does it feel like the right word's on the tip of his tongue… why is it making me so uneasy…

I scratch the back of my neck and look away. Even though he's not looking at me, looking at him makes me anxious somehow.

I should just say it myself.

"Yeah, I'm…" My teeth clench for a moment. "...I… ...like guys."

Stan turns around to look at me, fully this time. He steps towards my stiff, unmoving body. I don't see him do it, I hear it. All I see his the ground.

"Dude, you're so red." Stan laughs softly, patting my hat. "It's fine. I'm glad you told me."

I purse my lips and look up at him. I feel bad that I feel so ashamed. I've always supported gay rights, but now that it's me, I…

.. It's always been me, but…

...I couldn't tell Stan. He just wouldn't understand.

"It's funny…" Stan starts, and I notice his shoulder is closer to mine now. "I wasn't sure for a little while, but I finally figured it out. … I like guys too."

I can't help but look at him with widened eyes. Speechless. But he just smiles at me, his eyes suddenly looking vulnerable.

Wait… he's serious?

I mean…

….

His hand touches mine and I feel my chest suddenly fill with warmth.

Fuck.

If I had any doubts of being gay, they're gone.

He interlocks his hand with mine. This happened so suddenly, but it feels so slow.

But… I think I'm okay with this…

I think…

"Oh hey, you're right!" A voice calls in the distance. "Hey, guys! Over here!"

I look up to see that we've reached Stark's Pond, and on the water I see a rowboat, and realize that Kenny's sitting in it.

...And so is Cartman.

"Oh, Ken! Didn't expect to see you here!" Stan answers back loudly.

I pull my hand away from Stan's and shove it in my jacket pocket. Good god, I did _not_ expect to see Cartman here. I got so startled that my heart is pounding.

Kenny and Cartman row the boat to shore and start making small talk with us. Stan does make a point to not bring up anything we just said, and that I'm thankful for. I can tell he's a little put off because we were supposed to be here in private. If these two weren't here, we'd probably sit on the bench and admire the view, like we always used to when we were kids. But now since they're here, we decide to just get on the rowboat and talk. Watch Kenny and Cartman fish.

Kenny and Stan do most of the talking, to be honest. My eyes are on Cartman, and for whatever reason, his distance is making me uneasy. But he seems to just be concentrating on fishing. I don't expect any words from him.

So when he suddenly speaks, I flinch.

" _So,_ you calling off tomorrow's plans, Jew?" Cartman's tone is very biting.

I furrow my eyebrows. "Dude, I told you I'd be there." The hell is he so mad about? I told him Stan and I were gonna hang out. It's not my fault we ended up in the same place.

"You better be." Cartman huffs.

Asshole.

"What are you guys doing tomorrow?" Stan asks.

… Uh, shit.. Stan would probably think we're really weird if we told him we're fist fighting.

"Kyle's still trying to beat me at Rhythm Heaven." Cartman says with a roll of his eyes.

What?

"Oh, _that_ dumb game?" Stan laughs. "You guys really oughta stop playing that. It looks like it's for 12 year olds."

"None of your business, Marsh." Cartman growls.

Stan leans away, more towards Kenny. "Geez, Cartman. What's up with you today?" He says with a laugh.

I frown at Cartman. That lie was so bad. If I _was_ trying to desperately beat him at Rhythm Heaven, it would mean that I'm the one insisting we do it. So it doesn't make sense for Cartman to push for us to play it. He's lucky Stan's not very observant. I'm sure Kenny saw right through that lie.

"By the way Kyle, thanks for hooking me up." Kenny nudges me.

"Huh?"

"Jenny's fuckin' adorable. Most guys wouldn't just give her up like that." He says. "Just thought I'd say thanks for being so cool about it."

"Oh, no problem." I answer. I'm just relieved to have her out of my hair. "You guys seem like a good match."

In reality I'm surprised that someone as pampered and neat as Jennifer would go out with Kenny, who's so… scruffy looking, but, whatever works. At least my Mom can't force me to get with her now.

"Kenny and Jenny. That's actually pretty cute." Stan comments with a smile.

"Don't let her meet Token." Cartman snickers.

"Fuck off," I growl. I practically have a radar for these jew jokes.

So we talk more on the subject of video games. Kenny's been obsessing over Fallout Shelter again since there's only a few more days till Fallout 4 comes out. Cartman doesn't care for it. Says it's too much like farmville, and says that I'd like it.

Eventually Stan and I split off from them and he drives me home, mentioning he wanted to be alone with me. It would've been more special if it was like back then, when we'd just talk on the bench. ...Being alone with Stan, after that talk we had...

I get anxious just thinking about it.

My thoughts follow me into Saturday morning as well. After I brush my teeth I just stare blankly into the mirror, the consideration in my head. Being with Stan… I'd be lying if I said I never considered it. He's pretty fit and good looking, and on top of that, he's my best friend. ...I don't really know what he sees in me, but, I do trust him. It seems like a very safe setup. There's nothing I can think of that's wrong with it, except…

I can't help but wonder if I'd just be a rebound to Lesley.

Just then I hear Cartman knocking at the door. I know it's Cartman because it's that same insistent heavy handed knock I heard on Thursday. But it's 7 AM. Why is he here so early?

"Come in!" I shout at the door, starting to head down the stairs. Cartman walks in, quickly locating me. Those icy blue eyes meet mine.

"Ready?"

Already?

"Dude, I just woke up." I answer in a slight exasperation.

"Best time to start." He strides towards the basement door. "Come on, Jew."

Jesus Christ. It's like he makes an effort to be as unpredictable as possible just to throw me off. I know for a fact that Cartman is NOT a morning person, yet here he fucking is, telling me to fight him at 7 AM. But I follow him down the basement stairs, because why not, right? There's tension in the air, and I'm guessing this is the way Cartman would like to get rid of it. It's sad that his weird reasoning is starting to make sense to me.

"Same rules, right? You're not gonna sneak any rule changes on me?" I ask as we reach the basement floor. Beyond the boxes and my Dad's old antique film stuff there's a neatly cleaned empty space. The only thing that obstructs it is the water heater, but that's only slightly in the way. I'd say I did a pretty good job of cleaning up. There's not even dust on the floor.

"Who do you think I am?" Cartman scoffs. "A sneaky jew who changes things at the last minute?"

I narrow my eyes at him. He's still not over that, huh...? Well, what did I expect, anyway? "Okay. Ready?" I square my shoulders and stand up straight. "One…" I'm reminded of Cartman's height, and I hate that I have to remind myself not to be intimidated. "Two…" This is Cartman we're talking about…

"Three!"

Immediately I leap forward with my fists ready…

But a fist to my stomach stops me in my tracks. That solid clenched fist plummeted straight into my stomach is enough to shake my core. My body tightens and I feel a swell in my throat. I stare at the floor, trying to keep my feet balanced. "Again?" I hear in a deadpan.

Shit...

I reel back from him a few paces, feeling nauseated. Honestly I'm surprised he even lets me, from that irritated looking expression he's giving me. "Son of a bitch…" I grit out.

"What?" Cartman asks, "Did you really think I wouldn't get you? At all?"

I just didn't think he could hit so hard.

"So what, you wanna quit now?" He says through a laugh, stepping towards me.

"Fuck no," I growl, looking him in the eye as I force myself to stand up straight again. "We're _doing this_."

Cartman finally stops scowling, only to be replaced with that competitive smirk I've seen throughout the years. Then before I realize it, he lunges towards me, his fist aiming for my stomach again and I barely yank myself out of the way in time. I move so fast that I have to stagger to stop, my back slamming against the water heater in the process. It sends an unpleasant jolt of pain through me, but still I focus on my opponent. Cartman stands there and waits for me to move again, looking me in the eye and cracking his knuckles, making a big show of trying to intimidate me.

Strangely enough it does the opposite. Instead I feel a rush of adrenaline enter my body. I jolt forward, staying on my toes and trying to land a hit from every direction. In a blur of motion, I'm able to duck under his arms and kick him in the shin. But then he gets me again, slamming his forearm against my chest and knocking me off balance. I try everything in my power to catch my balance, but it's useless. The least I can do is stop myself from landing flat on my back, instead letting my elbows hit the hard concrete floor.

"Fuck..!" I gasp out.

Cartman laughs out loud at me. But soon after he reaches his hand out to help me up. I glance up at him, caught off guard by the gesture, but take it anyway. "One more, jew boy," He taunts as he pulls me up.

I nod quickly, feeling winded, but soon I'm a few paces away facing him again. The adrenaline makes my aching elbows vanish. We count down, and I wait for him this time, bouncing on my toes. There's one thing that always disadvantages Cartman, and I know for a fact it will work here. He gets impatient.

Despite his long wait for me, the game of footsies comes to a quick end, as he swings a punch at me and I dodge and uppercut him in the jaw. He's thrown completely off balance by that, and gives me an alarmed look as he grabs for me, but I lock my elbow against him and shove him back. He stumbles against some boxes, and some things fall over, but he still manages to keep his balance.

There's blood on my hand, I realize. I must have busted his lip. As I step back a few paces I see the blood trickling down his jaw.

Then he's up close to me again and I almost stumble, catching myself and using that distraction to kick at his feet again. I miss, narrowly, and I can hear him shout something, and a rush of movement comes towards me, and I dodge away by instinct.

Then there's a loud, swift packing sound of something heavy slamming against the concrete.

I look for the sound… and Cartman's lying flat on the floor. Even though.. I didn't touch him.

I look around and see papers spread all over the floor. Old work papers. A little further away from us, there's a paper with a shoe print on it. And now, I realize that Cartman slipped.

I walk over to him, my breath still a little heavy. "Well… does that count?" I ask.

...He's out. ...He's completely passed out.

Oh god, did he… did he hit his head..?

"Cartman!" I shout, kneeling down and propping his head up. "Hey, wake up! You okay?!"

I feel my heart racing as I look over his face, eyes closed and completely expressionless. Jesus christ… this really wasn't a good place to do this… Why didn't I account for the fucking papers in this fucking basement?! I fan Cartman's face to make sure he's getting air, but I can feel panic settling into my body. I should probably think about calling someone…

Just then, to my relief, his eyes open slowly. Thank god. I can still tell he's really dazed, but at least he's awake.

"Hey… can you hear me?" I ask. The first thing he does is grab my shoulder, probably trying to ground himself. He blinks a few times, then looks at me, seeming confused.

"Kahl, what…" He mutters, "What are you doing here..?"

...That's probably not a good sign.

No, calm down. He's just coming to.

"We were fighting, remember?" I say softly, "...You just hit your head on the floor."

He pulls his head up slightly, looking around slowly. "Ohh yeahhh…" He smiles, laughing softly. He lifts a finger and presses it gently on my cheek. "..Jew... you're not supposed to hit the face."

"Oh…" Oh yeah, I did… shit, I fucking hit his face, then he hit his head. God damn I'm an idiot. "A-are you feeling better?"

Cartman's head limps and he sighs as he blinks slowly. "Yeah… I… just need a nap…"

"No!" I shout immediately, my voice so rattled that Cartman flinches. "...S..Seriously… you just hit your head. If you sleep in the next 6 hours, y-you might end up in a coma." I stammer.

He stares at me with this mesmerized look on his face, and he seems to touch my hair in a fascinated way. God, I hope he's not seriously damaged.

"You… you're so worried." He chuckles.

… I purse my lips. In any other situation, I might not admit this, but, "I am." I admit. I can't deny it now. I got worried sick.

Cartman pulls me gently closer to him, and I let him; maybe he needs the comfort of closeness…

And then…

Suddenly…

He's kissing me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to come out! Juggling multiple projects atm and trying to make sure my wrist is alright. But it's a long chapter, so I hope you enjoy.

What…

What the fuck is going on?! He's-his lips-they're- what the fuck is he doing?! I gave him no reason to think about it so why?! Why is Cartman fucking kissing me?!

-Shit! I can't even drop him or shove him away… He's _already_ hurt. But he's holding this kiss, and… I… I…

...No. Just… back away from him.

Obviously…

When our lips separate I take in much needed breath, not realizing I'd apparently been holding it. I look him over and have to force myself not to demand what he was thinking. Even though it's clear that I can't ignore this. My face is intensely hot and I can feel myself starting to sweat.

"What was that?" I ask in a clearly feigned tone of calmness. I can't help that I'm speaking through the breath I'm trying to catch. Holy shit. Holy _shit._ Cartman's pupils are fucking blown. What the fuck. What the _fuck_ is happening... " _Well?!"_ I ask exasperatedly.

Cartman merely blinks and stares blankly. "...Uh… ...huh..?"

This fucking- piece of shit! He knows exactly what the fuck I'm talking about! The bastard… I bet he was using the situation as an opportunity…

I sit back and shut my eyes, letting Cartman support himself as I rub my temples. Fuck… I can't. I can't let him see my reaction. He's _trying_ to get a reaction out of me. "Leave."

Cartman just sits there, staring at me like I didn't fucking say anything. I purse my lips and watch him stare at me like he's innocent. "...Kahl,"

"Get _out!"_ I shout and stand up, turning away from him. I can't fucking handle this. I can't even stand to look at him. " _Go home_ , Fatass!"

I can feel my fists clench together, my entire body completely tense. It's taking everything in me not to kick the boxes in front of me over. Hell if I'll let Cartman see me like that. But surprisingly enough, I actually hear Cartman walk up the steps and close the basement door.

He actually left.

"Fuck," I exhale deeply, gripping the fabric over my chest. Thank god… My heart is fucking pounding so hard. I'm relieved that I dressed for being hot. If I was in my hat right now I'd be so overheated. Slowly, I make my way over to the basement stairs and take a seat- or, more accurately, I collapse into a sitting position. I run my hands through my slightly dampened hair, then running my cool hands over my hot face and sighing.

Why did he do that...? I mean… he did hit his head, but, kissing someone isn't something people normally do mindlessly. He acted like he was completely _innocent!_ That bastard… he probably did it to fuck with me! That has to be it. It had to have been a way to taunt me...

But… if that were the case… why wasn't it quick? It would make more sense if he just gave me a fucking peck, and then called me a faggot or something. It's hypocritical as fuck to do something like that, but that sounds like something Cartman _would_ do just to get under my skin.

The kiss he gave me… the way his lips connected with mine was so… soft. And he held it. He held me in it with his hand in my hair, not shoving or pulling me, just gently… his fingers were gently intertwined in my hair…

Oh god...

...But- maybe the reason he was so gentle was because he had just hit his head so-

-Oh my god.

He hit his head hard and I let him leave. What the fuck is wrong with me?!

"Cartman!" I shout as I hastily run up the stairs, bursting through the door. When I reach the living room I look around, calling his name again, but I realize it's dead silent. He's already left by now.

...Shit. He already said he wanted to take a nap. I can't let him just wander around…

I scramble up to my room and snatch my phone from the dresser, quickly swiping through my contacts and pressing the call button. It rings 5 times before I actually get an answer, and I rock anxiously on my heels.

"Heyo," Kenny greets me casually through the call.

"Kenny, I need you to come take care of Cartman right now. He just left my house after hitting his head really hard and he might say he wants to take a nap. Don't let him sleep! He needs to stay awake for at least 6 hours and I need you to be there to keep him awake."

A bit of silence on the line makes me slightly anxious. "Uhhh, what?" Kenny asks, completely clueless.

I sigh, taking a breath. "Come over to our street and keep Cartman awake for the rest of the day, please." I say in a much calmer manner.

"Okay, that I can understand," Kenny laughs, "The fuck are you guys doing at 7 in the morning anyway?"

"Uhhh…" I pause for a moment, feeling my stomach sink. "W-well we were just- He just- uh, tripped and hit his head really hard and then wandered off so I had to call you quick."

Another bit of silence. I hear some kind of rustling in the background, then he talks again. "Riiight. Okay. I was gonna hang out with him today anyway. I'll call him." With that, he hangs up. Jesus… what does he think...? I mean, he obviously didn't buy that. Maybe I should just let Kenny know about the whole fighting thing so he doesn't misunderstand. But… that does sound pretty weird.

It's not what you think, Kenny. Me and Cartman have just been getting together to beat the shit out of each other. You know, the usual. I'm sure he won't question that at all. Ugh. Maybe I'm just better off letting him think what he thinks.

...

Actually, no. That's a terrible idea.

To distract myself I decide to go over the material in Chemistry. I read a few pages ahead to get a better grasp, then take a break from that and practice Toon Link in Smash 4. Between doing this, I'm having a text conversation with Stan. He says he's hanging out with his Football Team and going over strategies for the spring season. Among other things, of course.

I try not to think about how irritatingly jealous I get that Stan went on to join a sport. I was good at Football too, and especially good at Basketball, but in 8th grade my dad and I had a huge argument about how I shouldn't take after sports, and focus all my time and effort into academics instead. How trying to be good at Basketball, Math and Science would be a waste of my time. 'A Jack of All Trades is a Master of None,' he'd keep saying.

Well, I _put_ all my focus into academics. But Ike is a thousand times better than me at it, so what's the point? I might as well have said fuck pops' blessing and joined the goddamn Basketball Team. And now it's too fucking late.

And speaking of my family, they come back less than 2 days from now… Jesus. I don't want to think about that. I might as well stop spending my time being alone and hang out with someone since I won't have that option when my mom's through with me.

The only problem is, when Stan's hanging out with the guys, the only other two people I hang out with are Cartman and Kenny. And I _really_ don't want to hang out with Cartman after _that._ Whatever that was.

Fucking Cartman. He just does whatever the fuck he wants and doesn't think of the effect it has on people. That's always been his shit deal. That's what this whole fighting thing was. He was bored and he knew I'd fight with him if he convinced me hard enough. ...Not that I really minded the fighting that much, but, he was already dead set on having it happen. Even before asking me.

Whatever. I don't even know if we're gonna have those fights anymore anyway.

Eventually Stan texts me saying that he wants to hang out. I'm itching for some company at this point so I agree to it without hesitation. Lately us hanging out means us getting in his car and going somewhere, as opposed to just hanging out at his house like we usually do. I don't know how to feel about that.

And honestly we could've just walked to this place. It's a nearby coffee house. We sit down and have brunch, making small talk while Stan stirs his coffee anxiously. Then the actual conversation starts.

"I broke up with Lesley." Stan says somberly.

I can't help but feel a little tense about this. I know she really wasn't worth it, but Stan did feel genuinely excited about being in a relationship with her when they first started off. So really, I don't know what to say right now. "...And? - I mean, how did it go?"

"...She almost pulled me back in. But then I thought about everything you told me, and…" Stan shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

I lean forward, giving Stan a sympathetic look. "You did the right thing, Stan. You don't need someone stringing you along while they talk about how they don't care about you behind your back. Even if she does want to stay with you, it's with bad intentions."

Stan looks at me, and he doesn't seem like he's completely sure. "You're positive she was talking behind my back?"

I frown. "Stan, why would I lie about something like that?"

Stan sits back against the booth seat, his gaze dodging mine. "I was just thinking, maybe you misheard her…"

The furrow in my brow deepens. He's still doubting the idea of Lesley being a bad person, even after breaking up with her? Ugh. I mean, I always respected Stan's natural skepticism. But it always seems to come with this indecisiveness. Even when he's made a set in stone decision, it's like… he beats himself up over the idea that he could've made the wrong decision. Even going as far as doubting people attempting to reassure him. Case in point.

"We talk about me too much. How's your life going?" Stan sighs.

"...Oh, well…" I shrug, "I yelled at my Mom over the phone, so… when she comes home I'll probably be grounded." Even as I say that I can feel my stomach drop.

Stan purses his lips, but other than that he doesn't look very fazed. "It's about time you stood up to her, dude."

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Yeah, sure. That's like saying it's about time I shot myself in the foot."

Stan gives a slight attempt at a chuckle, as if he wasn't sure if that was a cue to laugh. It wasn't, but it's not like I care that much. "What did you say to her anyway?"

"Uggh. It was about the fucking girlfriend thing again." I sigh excessively. After that, it goes oddly silent for a few seconds. I have to look up from staring at my coffee to look at Stan, who's just sitting there awkwardly staring at his own coffee. After a moment or two, a small smile develops on his face.

"Well, it finally makes sense why you won't get with anyone she pairs you with," He says softly. I can't help but shrink away and fold my arms when he uses that tone.

I try to distract myself by drinking my coffee. It's still pretty hot and when it touches my tongue it feels a little bit scalding. Suddenly, at that moment, I feel a shiver. I suddenly distinctly remember that taste of blood on my lips. The blood on Cartman's busted lip… that I tasted. When he suddenly just- kissed me. Uh. I.

What is wrong with me?

"Kyle?"

I jolt at the sound of Stan's voice calling me. I stare at him with widened, alarmed eyes, and realize he has an amused smile on his face.

"Haha, you okay?" Stan asks, leaning his cheek into his hand.

I frown and I feel heat wash through my face in embarrassment. "Yes," I mumble, looking down. Jesus Christ. What am I thinking…? What am I… am I going nuts? Why would I even like the _thought_ of that…?

"Um… hey…" ...Huh. That's a girl's voice.

I turn my head and realize that Wendy's standing in front of our booth. Oh boy... Stan immediately looks away and goes on his phone. Not everybody knows this, but Stan outright refuses to talk to Wendy now. When they broke up 4 years ago Stan told me that it hurt too much, and she was too good at talking him back into the relationship. So he just completely avoided talking to her. For 4 years. And that's the one thing he actually manages to have dedication to.

Admittedly, he's slipped every now and then, but they've never really had a real conversation since then, as far as I know.

"Hi Kyle… Stan…" Wendy says hesitantly. "I know this is a little awkward, but I wanted to know how those links I sent you went over."

Stan looks at me with a little bit of surprise and a little bit of irritation. Yyeahh, I didn't exactly tell him that the information was from Wendy. Ugh. He's probably gonna think it's biased or something now.

"Yeah, I had a good look at all of them." I answer, scratching the back of my hat. "But I'm not sure what you mean, go over well."

Wendy looks awkwardly at Stan again, then leans more towards me. "Well, you know… I figured with you behind me, maybe we'd have grounds to clear the names of some of those exes names, and expose her for the hurtful person she is. Travis Anderson, David Becker, they don't deserve to be treated like that."

"Wendy, the damage is done. I don't know how you'd even go about fixing something as abstract as ostracism." I reply honestly, glancing at Stan who's just watching intently. "And really, it's not like it's that big a deal. She's just petty."

Wendy shakes her head slightly, looking frustrated, but with a pleading expression on her face. "You don't understand, Kyle. The girls in Journalism all look up to Lesley. They believe every word she says. They use her 'advice on boys' as some kind of manipulative bible. That kind of influence on masses of people is dangerous!"

"Well, a few girls in Journalism isn't really a mass, Wendy."

"It's not just them. The girls friend groups and their friend groups. It spreads. You saw what happened to Travis on Facebook, Kyle!" Wendy insisted. She gripped my shoulder "I really think you and I, with our talented way with words could make people see the truth."

Man. She really is heated about this. I mean, I can't really blame her… I don't agree with what Lesley's doing either. Maybe we should do something. At least warn other guys…

"Do you mind, Wendy?" Stan suddenly speaks up, in an irritated tone. From the corner of my eye I see that Wendy and I simultaneously turned our heads in the same direction to hear him speak. His eyes narrow, probably even more irritated that he has to talk to her.

"...I just wanted to talk to Kyle." Wendy crossed her arms, clearly feeling uncomfortable.

"Yeah well, you're kind of interrupting our date." Stan chides.

" _...What?_ " My eyes grow wide, looking incredulously at Stan. Since when are we _dating?!_

Wendy's eyes are just as wide as mine. "Oh… you two are together now…?"

"No we are _not,_ " I cut in immediately, glaring at Stan. Stan actually has the audacity to shoot me an offended look.

"We're not?" Stan repeats as if it's the most absurd thing I've ever said.

"No." I say again, this time more sternly. I purse my lips and he just stares at me with a confused look on his face. Jesus, this is turning into a fucking mess.

Wendy's gaze flickers between the two of us, silent and anxious. "...Uh…. I'm sorry, should I.. leave you two alone..?" She asks, already starting to back away.

"No, I'm going." I sigh and push my coffee away from myself, quickly getting up and beelining for the door. I hear Stan call my name behind me, but I ignore him and get out of there as quickly as possible.

God dammit. Why did he fucking _say_ that?! To get back at Wendy?! He's really gonna throw me under the bus to make her feel uncomfortable?! Fuck him. Fuck Stan dragging me into this petty shit that he has with Wendy. Fuck taking his car. This place is close to home anyway, I'm fucking walking home. I'm not going to be forced into uncomfortable situations so Stan can make Wendy feel upset while simultaneously-

I hear heavy steps kicking quickly through the snow. In that instance I whip around, taking a few paces back in a defensive manner.

I turn around and see that Stan had tried to grab me by the shoulders, just narrowly missing. He looks confused.

"...Dude, come on. We don't have to start a fight." Stan sighs, baring his palms at his sides. I stare blankly at him, and then my self-awareness kicks in, realizing that I had my fists up. Oh…

I give Stan an apologetic glance and then lowered my arms to my sides.

Stan gives me a leveled stare, and I watch him with pursed lips as he hesitates to speak. "Uh… do you just… not want anyone to know, uh, that you're... gay?"

I let my arms limp at my sides in exasperation, giving him the most deadpanned stare. " _Obviously_."

Stan shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. "Dude, come on, it's 2015. Nobody's gonna judge you for being gay-"

"No no no," I groan, covering my face with my hand. "No. It's not that. It's not…" I don't want to overreact about this. "Ugh… Stan." I lower my hand from my face, trying to collect myself. "What you just did... was _not_ okay."

Stan's face is blank for a moment, then he frowns slightly. ".. Sorry. I didn't think you wanted to keep it secret."

"I'm not talking about _that._ " I frown. "You used me to spite Wendy. You outed me just to make her upset! Do you know how petty that is?"

" _What?_ " Stan looks baffled at my accusation. "Dude, _Wendy_ was the one being petty. She interrupted our conversation just to bring up my ex and talk about how bad a person she was right in front of me!"

"Wha- no she wasn't! That was incidental." I argue back at him. "Stan, that was literally the last thing she and I talked about."

Stan goes silent, his jaw tensing slightly. "..Maybe... but… I just don't like seeing her, dude. I mean, it's hard."

"That doesn't matter. What you did was ridiculously inconsiderate." I chide insistently.

"...Okay, sorry." Stan sighs with very obvious reluctance.

"You should be apologizing to Wendy, not me."

Stan shakes his head. "Dude, you know I can't."

Fucking hell… ..No. No, don't get into this. I've tried to fix this shit with him and Wendy over and over and it never works. We don't need to repeat this conversation. This is one of the things in life that I can't change with a combination of tired sentences.

"...Well, I don't know about you, but I lost my appetite for brunch." I say with a frustrated sigh. I feel Stan's hand gently touch my forearm. I look at him and meet his eyes, which are very clearly apologetic.

"Let me take you home then," He says softly. ...That sweet tone admittedly takes a big part in convincing me.

"Don't even know why we took the car." I say, reluctantly following him towards it.

On the car ride home we listen to Coldplay. Clocks. It's pretty soothing, which is what I needed right now. Stan does always know how to calm me down. … He thought we were dating, huh…? Well… I did never reject him touching my hand. And I'm not the type to lead someone on. … I hope I didn't hurt his feelings by shutting him down so hard… but… I really don't know if I can trust him right now. For all I know he'll just use me as a rebound and get back with Lesley a week later. And honestly, that probably _is_ how it will go. The whole fact that he's so emotional about her… he can't resist can he?

Honestly when I think about it like that, there's really no point in getting any more attached to Stan.

"Here we are," Stan says, pulling the car into his driveway. He doesn't need to park in front of my house since it's right next door. "Man. I'm not used to seeing your house so dark."

"Don't get used to it." I groan. "I only have until Monday. Then they come back and I'm gonna be grounded for god knows how long."

Stan's gaze flickers to the house, then back to me. He straightens his back and clears his throat. "You know, Kyle, since you're not uh, doing anything today and no one's home…" He starts, in a tone that sounds almost… .. sultry.

I stare at him, bewildered. He's not really insinuating what I think he is, is he? "...What?" I ask hesitantly.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. "Well, you only have till Monday to be alone, right? I mean... " Stan mutters. He looks down at his steering wheel with pursed lips and a reddened face. "Nevermind." He huffs.

What? Is he serious..? I mean Jesus Christ…

"Uh…" What do I even say to that?! "I'll see you tomorrow, dude." I say nervously. I open the door and get out of his car.

Stan nods follows suit adjusting his coat and heading down the walkway, and I beeline for my house, my hands feeling sweaty and my face hot again. That's happened twice too many times today. And did Stan really say that? I might be wrong but I'm pretty sure 'your parents aren't home' means ' _can I have sex with you tonight?_ '

And if that's the case, what the fuck! He broke up with Lesley not even a day ago! And then he says something like that..?! I mean, god damn, Stan. It's not like he was making a joke either. He was clearly embarrassed about it…

Well... at least he didn't push it. He probably realized how weird it was. Not to mention the timing of it all… ugh. Is it somehow appropriate to him to ask something like that just directly after outing me to Wendy without my permission? He couldn't possibly be that clueless.

...What's more… I'm kinda… surprised that he even said that to me. He did say he likes guys so of course it goes without saying that he'd want to have sexual involvement with them, but… I don't know. We live in a small town. Despite what Stan said, there's not many gay people here. In fact, there's only two that I can think of, and they're dating each other, so it goes without saying that I've never had a guy show _that_ kind of interest in me.

..Well… except for Cartman, earlier today… I mean, technically a kiss isn't inherently sexual. But something about the way he did it was really… uhh.. ..intimate, I guess…

And the look in his eyes.

God.

The image in my mind's so vivid. As soon as I looked at his eyes, I could practically feel it in the air. I can still feel it.…

... Jesus… was it really not a prank…? Looking back on it, it seems like he might've kissed me just because he's… actually interested in me. My body tenses and I get goosebumps just from considering something like that.

Cartman… _liking_ me? Why is it that…. that doesn't seem so hard to grasp...?

… Ugh.. just thinking about the _idea_ of Cartman being interested in me is such a clusterfuck of an idea. I'll think about it when I have more energy mentally because today was just a mess.

I make sure all my doors are locked and decide to try out that new Fallout Shelter game Cartman and Kenny keep raving about. It does a pretty good job at keeping my thoughts at bay while I try to figure the game's mechanics out.

As much as I dislike the fact that I'm being a hermit right now, I'm not really given much of a choice. Kenny's hanging out with Cartman and I don't have an earthly idea as to what to say to Cartman, and things are pretty awkward between me and Stan as of today. But hopefully that will blow over by tomorrow.

Me and Stan are generally pretty good at snapping back into our usual rhythm after fights. I just need to give him a day to make the awkwardness fade out.

I end up playing Fallout Shelter until 11 PM. At that point, I force myself to sleep. I don't want my last day to be shit just because I didn't get enough sleep. ...One more day of freedom… I should at least enjoy myself tomorrow.

…

I wake up after a deep sleep, actually sleeping longer than I usually do. My body feels a little tingly. I guess that's a good start to my last day. I get up and do my usual morning routine, take a long shower, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, "brush" my hair… then I take a look at my phone. Stan's sent me a few texts.

In them he apologizes for what happened at the coffee house and asks if we could hang out today. That's what we end up doing. I go over to his house - he finally decides we don't have to go somewhere to have fun and we stay in at the house.

I show him the new game I'm playing and explain how it works. He tries it for a little while and seems to automatically dislike it. That's fine though. We have other games we can play.

"Hey, by the way did you get Kenny's texts?" Stan asks me.

"No, it's probably somewhere deep below all your texts." I tease. I get a laugh out of him.

"Dude he wants us to hang out at the graveyard tonight. Go ghost hunting and all that." By Stan's smile I can tell he thinks the idea's stupid.

"Ghost hunting?" I raise my eyebrow. In all honesty that sounds like something Cartman would think of.

"He said he's inviting all the guys. So at least if we get bored we can just talk to each other." Stan adds on.

'The guys' is a term we use in reference to our group specifically. That means me, Stan, Kenny, Cartman and sometimes Butters. When Kenny says "all the guys," he doesn't mean every guy in town. Thankfully. That's too many fucking people.

"So do you wanna go?" Stan asks again.

And despite my nonchalant response, it just so happens that we do actually end up going to this thing. At 7:00 PM Stan and I jump into his car and drive up to the town's graveyard. What else should I do? This is my last day with my friends for god knows how long. But… Jesus… how am I gonna face Cartman today? What am I gonna say to him, or act towards him now that he fucking kissed me?

This is ridiculous. I mean, _he's_ the one who went and pulled that crap. Why do I even have to think about how _I'm_ gonna act?! He's the one who should make up for the kiss today. But I seriously doubt he'll put that effort in. I doubt he'll even consider it.

"Kyle, Stan!" Kenny calls us over at the gate of the graveyard. Butters is cowering next to him, as if hiding from the graveyard. But… I don't see Cartman.

"Hey, Kenny," I greet the blonde as Stan and I walk up to him. I give a casual glance to Butters and then look back to Ken. "Are you the only two that came?"

Kenny huffs. "Ahh, that lazy asshole didn't wanna come."

"Really?" Stan sounds pretty surprised. "Isn't this like, his thing?"

"Yeah, but he said he wasn't feeling well." Kenny replies with a roll of his eyes. " _Apparently_ he's coming down with something."

...Cartman's not here?

"How much you wanna bet he just got grounded again?" Stan nudges Kenny in amusement.

"Buck's got Cartman on a pretty tight leash." Kenny nods.

"...Maybe we should wait until Eric can come to do this." Butters adds with a quiver in his voice.

"Awwww, Butters! Are you scared~?" Kenny teases, wrapping his arm around Butters.

"Yes," Butters pipes up without the slightest sign of hesitation. Kenny only laughs.

"C'mon, guys. Let's find us some ghosts!"

Kenny kneels down and began picking the gate's lock. The graveyard behind it is something straight out of a horror film. Silhouettes of tombstones and crosses planted atop a hill, thickly veiled in a white winter fog. Kenny distributes flashlights to the four of us and starts to lead the way down the barren path of the graveyard. He amuses the guys with some small talk. Usually Cartman's job.

Did Cartman seriously back out because of me…? Because of what happened yesterday? ...That doesn't seem like something he'd do. Why would he care about what I thought of his stupid shit? Seriously, when does he ever care? When does he ever think about the way he needs to act around me…? I can't even remember the last thing he did something remotely considerate.

That's right. He doesn't care. He's an asshole. Any act of kindness from him has been for his own benefit. His interactions with me have and always will flip on a dime. Because he's an asshole and he has no regard for other people's feelings.

So where is he?!

He's an inconsiderate asshole who doesn't care about how awkward he'd make me feel yesterday. He should be here pissing me off and making an ass of himself.

I suddenly hear the snap of a branch, and Butters jumps backwards and crashes into me, almost knocking me over.

"Butters!" I shout at him as he scurries away, wrapping his own arms around him and glancing every which way.

"Did you hear that?!" Butters whimpers. "It sounded like bones snapping."

"Oh come on, dude. It was a branch one of us stepped on." Stan scoffs.

"How do you know it was one of _us?_ " Kenny offers in a dramatically ominous tone.

"Kenny, come on. You don't actually believe in ghosts, do you?" I ask curiously.

Kenny gives me a long stare, then after a few seconds, raising an eyebrow. "After all I've seen in my life?"

"But every 'experience' we've had with ghosts has been proven fake." I point out.

Kenny's smile then stretches wide across his face, gaze locked intently on me. "Yeah, but this is the perfect place to have a real ghost experience." He slowly turns around, raising his head and examining the terrain of the graveyard, tombstones surrounding us now that we've moved deeper in. "Hear how quiet it just got?"

"That's because nobody was talking." Stan deadpanned.

Kenny ignores him. "There's no birds here. No owls. No crickets. Just silence. _Dead_ silence."

Butters whimpers again. "That's the worst kind of silence…!"

"That's right, Butters. Know why it's so silent here?" Kenny stares right at him and does a dramatic pause. "The animals _know._ They've seen the dead, drifting above their graves, wandering the graveyard, confused, frightened, angry. The ghosts here aren't shy. In fact, they're pretty territorial." He begins to pace the ground, the dust and loose soil kicking up in thin clouds beneath his shoes, making soft crunching sounds. "The worst ones are the ones that have realized they're dead, and aren't going anywhere soon. Stuck in this desolate, endless fog, surrounded by pained, screaming ghosts like themselves. Angry at the world. At the humans who put them all in one spot for convenience."

I feel the hairs on my arm raise from his tone. Stan is stoic towards this, but Butters is shivering intensely and glancing around in paranoia. Kenny steps towards us, backing us towards a huge tombstone with a dark look in his eyes.

"When the ghosts here see people, invading their already crowded space, they go _nuts._ They all creep around the humans, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And when they do, they shoot out of the graves, one by one, taking the souls of humans and ripping them right out of their body..!"

At this exact moment, I see a blur of movement from the corner of my eye, and a shrill, distorted voice pierces my ears - a loud, blood curdling noise that shakes everyone up. Stan's face has gone pale as we all realize large arms have been latched around him and a dark figure with glowing eyes looms over him. Shit…! What is…?!

...Wait!

" _Cartman?!_ " I shout, my voice somewhere between enraged and incredibly alarmed. I can see him more clearly now that I've pointed my flashlight at him. That big bulky figure is unmistakably Cartman. I hear a hearty distorted laugh from beneath his now cheap looking mask. Son of a bitch. It's a voice changer.

As soon as Stan hears that laugh he turns around and frowns, the color returning to his face. "Fuck you, Fatass!" He chides. Cartman just laughs even harder, gripping the tombstone in front of him. After a few breaths he takes in, he removes the mask.

"Dude, dude…! Kenny, oh my god that was perfect!" He laughs hysterically. Kenny is laughing along with him. Cartman begins to frantically point to the ground behind me. "Fuck, look at Butters!"

I turn and see Butters lying on the ground, completely passed out. "Awww, Jesus, Cartman..!" I go to his side and prop him up to give him air. He's slowly starting to come to as Kenny loses it and runs over to give Cartman a hi five, both of them still laughing hard.

"F...Fellas..?" Butters starts to utter in a dazed voice.

"Hey Butters," Stan says with a little bit of a chuckle, "You okay?" Butters says something in sort of a babble and Stan's chuckle turns into a laugh. He takes Butters hand and we both help him stand up. "Okay, that was pretty good," Stan admits to Kenny.

Kenny shakes his head, "Cartman's the mastermind here," He gestures to him as Cartman climbs over the giant tombstone and dusts his hands.

"I was hoping to grab Kahl." Cartman teases. My heart suddenly leaps. Cartman probably notices because he looks me in the eye, and my stomach knots up. "Probably woulda screamed like a bitch."

I swallow thickly. It's killing me to not know what he's thinking right now… Is he angry at me for telling him to leave…? That doesn't make sense. I'm not any more rude to him than I usually am… but that's probably the point, right…? It's not every day that somebody kisses you so… obviously he wanted a different reaction.. Why am I even thinking about this...?

"Uh… Kyle?" Stan touches my shoulder. I turn to him and notice that he looks confused. … Shit, was I just quietly staring this whole time while everyone was waiting for me to respond…?

Cartman bursts into laughter. "Jesus I scared the brains outta Kahl!"

"That's mean, Cartman," Butters protests. "Besides Kyle's got plenty of smarts left over even if you did scare some out."

" _I wasn't scared_ ," I snap. "Cartman just got a cheap jump scare out of me."

"So I _did_ scare you," Cartman smirks.

"You made me flinch." I glare. "You _never_ scare me."

Cartman's smile disappears, but he's not exactly frowning. He gives me this unreadable stare that sends chills down my spine. God… I think the sparring we do is making me too excitable.

"I'll admit it, I got scared shitless." Stan shrugs.

"Oh, y'don't have to tell us, Stan. You were white as a sheet." Kenny snickered.

"So we can go home now?" Butters asks, fidgeting around.

"Go home? It's only 7:30, Butters. What are you, five?" Cartman jabs him.

"B-But you just wanted to scare us." He whimpers.

Cartman laughs and puts his arm around Butters. "Nah, brah. I was serious, we're going ghost hunting."

"Wait, really?" Stan raises an eyebrow.

Cartman starts to lead us through the graveyard. "Seriously, you guys. We could actually see ghosts here."

"And what're we gonna do when we find one? Suck it up in a vacuum?" Stan retorts.

"That'd be pretty cool actually. I want a ghost aquarium." Kenny jokes.

I scoff. "Don't humor him, Kenny. We're not even supposed to be here right now. It's private property."

Cartman whirls around and gives me a look of surprise. "Kahl, you of all people don't believe in ghosts?"

"What the hell do you mean, me of all people?"

"Back in the day little Dike Broflovski saw Billy Mays as a ghost. Remember?"

Ugh. Dike Broflovski. How clever. "He was just lying and I fell for it back then." I explain. "We all did."

Cartman splutters, an expression on his face that'd only be appropriate if I said something ridiculous. "Seriously? He got possessed by Michael Jackson and we had to take him to a pageant show to make him get better!"

"Do you even hear yourself, dude?" I flick my palms up, "He's always pulled pranks like that. One time he jumped out a window and pretended to need hospital attention just so he could play on the computer at the hospital."

"Oh I remember that, that was when Obama won, right?" Stan remarks.

"Yeah." I sigh. "But the point is he's always pulled pranks on me. He still does. The difference is I'm not stupid enough to believe them anymore."

Cartman doesn't look convinced, but he sighs and shrugs. "Oh that Dike. Such a prankster."

"Why do you keep calling him that, Cartman?" I frown.

"Kahl, he totally has a dyke haircut. Every time I see him he has a different haircut but he always looks like a dyke. He needs to change that shit."

I roll my eyes. "You're just obsessed with calling people gay, aren't you?"

Cartman laughs. "What? I haven't called anyone gay since October, lying jew."

"Y'know, I kinda did notice that." Kenny vouches for him. "What's up with that, dude? That's usually your shit."

Cartman shrugs. "It's getting overused. Losing it's charm."

"Oh please! What about Thursday? We were in the middle of a discussion and you called me gay out of nowhere."

For a moment it looks like it suddenly seems to dawn on Cartman that we had this conversation. But then suddenly he crosses his arms and shoots a smug smile at me. "What did I say, Kahl?"

"You seriously don't remember?" I ask. "It was when you were in the middle of calling Wendy crazy-"

"But what'd I say?"

The furrow in my brow deepens. He's just bluffing. I remember perfectly what he said. "You said 'I'm pretty sure I'm single for the same reason you are,' asshole."

Cartman smiles wider. "And you got 'you're gay' from that?"

I hesitate for a moment. "You were clearly implying that I was gay."

Cartman tilts his head. "What'd I say to imply that?"

"..."

"Sounds like guilty conscience to me."

No.. wait.. What…? Did I just out myself?

"Why are you even talking about this, fatass?" Stan chides.

"Hey, he brought it up."

"You _did_ imply it." I mutter clenching my fists slightly as I glare up at him.

"How?" Cartman asks, crossing his arms.

"Because, what else could that possibly _mean?_ "

He shrugs. "That we're both not what chicks are looking for?"

"Don't fuck with me, that wasn't the tone! You _know_ that was what you were implying!" I snap. I feel my blood boiling. This fucking asshole…trying to trick me...

"Hey, if you're gay, Kahl, I have no problem with it-"

" _I'M NOT FUCKING GAY!_ " I cut him off with a volume that I shock myself with. So loud that my words echo through the graveyard. Fuck… and ontop of that, my voice cracked…

My gaze is on the ground now, but I don't need to look to know that everyone's staring at me right now.

My face is beet red. I can feel how hot it is.

...Now the graveyard really is dead silent.

I wrap my arms around myself and turn away from them. "This was a stupid idea. I'm going home." I grit out hoping I don't embarrass myself further by letting my voice crack again. I start down the trail refusing to look back.

"Nice going, fatass," I hear Stan say in the distance. "Why don't you learn how to be a decent person for once and leave Kyle alone?"

My mind's racing. I'm just gonna leave and get my head on straight. Avoiding any small graves I might trip over, I make a beeline for the open gate. I'm leaving this stupid fucking graveyard and all the stupid fucking things that were said in it.


	9. Chapter 9

"I swear to Abraham, on top of my mother's grave, Kyle, I raised you to be a sweet, caring young man! Not this brooding teenage stereotype who swears at his mother!"

This has been going on for 30 minutes. I can see Ike out of the corner of my eye watching from the living room. How she managed to drag this on this long, I don't know. Talking about the same thing for hours is like a talent of hers.

"I don't know which of your friends compelled you to do this, but you will not act that way to me or any of my family members. Do you understand me?!"

It's not like she's not making good points, but I'm probably gonna miss my bus.

"Do you?! Or are you just going to sit there with that blank look on your face?"

"I understand." I blurt out robotically.

"From now on there will be no more swearing, no more ugly looks and no more goofing around! You are to come straight home for two weeks! You go to school, come home, do your homework and go straight to bed!"

"Yes Ma'am." A smartass part of me wants to ask if I can eat, breathe or think.

"Now go catch your bus! You're going to be late for school!" She shoots a sharp manicured finger to the door. I make no expression, I don't even breathe, because she's probably gonna think I'm sighing, and boy then she'll have something to say to me. I'm better off just heading back upstairs to pack up.

"Man, she laid into you." Ike snickers as he follows me up the stairs.

"You're so lucky you never got that." I respond.

"Course not. I'm the good one." Ike says proudly. This asshole… he might be a genius, but he's eons away from mature. I'm almost positive I wasn't this full of myself when I was ten.

"Shouldn't you already be at school?" I query, but I'm pretty sure I know the answer to this one.

Ike shrugged. "Since I got first place I get to do whatever I want today. That means staying home and playing CoD Blops."

"I figured."

"Hey, don't be jell, Kyle. I earned this." Ike teases.

"I'm not being _jell._ " I lie blatantly. "I'm going to school."

Surprisingly, as the school day passes, I realize that being yelled at and grounded by my Mom is actually pretty underwhelming. I mean… two weeks? What was I really getting accomplished in two weeks anyway? The most I do lately is have friends over. Most days I'm just sitting on the computer, looking at Facebook and killing time. So what, I'm gonna be forced to be more focused on school? Honestly, I was going to do that anyway. There's not much that's going to be different.

Aside from sparring with Cartman… … but, honestly with the whole kiss thing, I doubt we're gonna keep doing that. Being alone with Cartman is bound to be pretty awkward from now on.

…It's weird… I was actually looking forward to more sparring.

I mean… it's barbaric. It's aimless. It's exhausting. But it's exciting. It's probably one of the only exciting things that happened for a while in my life. As much as I wished for the town to be normal back when I was ten, I'm realizing that I don't really like boring either.

Ugh.. but it's not like I can have it both ways. If I get back into sparring with Cartman he might get the wrong idea.

The drawback is, the monotony of this routine is accentuated by my being grounded.

I get up in the morning, go to school, go home, go to bed. Rinse and repeat.

The only thing worth noting is that Stan and I have been getting a little closer. We're going back to being best friends again. Actual best friends. I missed that.

But every time I come home I hear Ike being praised and buttered up by my parents. They act like I'm not even there. Occasionally they turn around and say "put the plates away Kyle," or give me some other arbitrary errand. But that kind of demeanor towards me happened way before I got grounded. I can't remember the last time I had a conversation with my parents that had real substance. That wasn't just a barked order or hollow small talk.

"Fucking Ike," I growl.

In the middle of lunch I decided to vent to the guys about my irritation. It's weird – even Cartman seemed to be listening.

"Is it really that bad?" Stan asks in a heartfelt tone.

"Ugh… I mean, I still love Ike, but, Jesus." I groan. "He's so full of himself. I really wish I could just knock him down a peg. Just a _peg._ "

"The fuck is a peg, anyway?" Kenny asks.

"I don't know. It's just a figure of speech." I grumble.

"Let him brag, Kahl. It's the only good thing he gets outta this." Cartman cuts in, mouth half full of food. I look over at him, my stomach knotting slightly when I do.

"What're you talking about, Cartman? Ike came home to a feast at dinner and got to stay home from school today. There's plenty of good things he gets out of this."

Cartman laughs. "Just a fancy dinner? Fuckin Jews won't even take the poor kid to Disneyland."

I frown. "You know he won first place in the National Mathlete Competition, right? He thinks he walks on water right now."

"I bet he doesn't." Cartman argues.

"Cartman. _First place._ _Nation wide."_ I emphasize.

At that moment Cartman puts his burger down and swivels his torso to face the rest of the cafeteria. "Hey! Hey everyone!" Cartman shouts across the sea of students, their eyes magnetizing to our table. Cartman gestures to me with two pointing fingers. "Kyle's brother won _first place_ in the National Mathlete Competition!" Multiple faces stare at Cartman with vacant eyes, waiting for a few seconds to see if he continues. A few silent seconds pass by before the students lose interest and go back to their normal conversations. Cartman turns back towards us and gazes pointedly at me. "See how cool they think Ike is?"

"What you just did doesn't prove anything. These people don't even know Ike." I retort.

"Nobody thinks math is cool, Kyle. Nobody at Ike's school's gonna be like 'Hey I heard you won that mathlete competition, wanna hang out?' Except fuckin dweebs. He gets nothing out of it."

"He gets treated like a fucking king by our parents, dude."

"Pfft. Oh yeah, I bet. That's what every 10 year old wants. Every 10 year old wants to do math 5 hours a day, be dragged across the country to do more math and get a stupid trophy that's gonna collect dust with a bunch of other trophies, just so his parents can pretend to be his friends. I mean, he probably doesn't have any real friends at school but at least his parents are proud of him."

"Since when do you know all about Ike?" Stan pipes up in an irritated tone.

Cartman stuffs his face full of more hamburger. "I don't. I just would never wanna be a math mule."

I hesitate for a few moments. "It's not as bad as you're making it out to be."

"Honestly Cartman, you're just trying to make it sound bad because you're not that smart." Stan adds.

"Big deal. Being book smart just means dumb people use you as a computer." Cartman says with a roll of his eyes.

After that Kenny graciously changes the subject. But after thinking about it, maybe Cartman does have a point. Honestly I'm surprised he even cares. Ike looks up to Cartman - for some god forsaken reason – but Cartman doesn't give Ike the time of day.

But what's bothering me more than that… my heart keeps pounding whenever Cartman speaks up. It obviously started after the kiss. But it's been two days and it's becoming a huge problem… I keep thinking he's gonna say something about me, or the kiss, or at least _imply_ that it happened, but… nothing.

It's driving me crazy.

I wish I could just dissect that memory from my brain. Apparently we're not even gonna fucking talk about it, so all it's doing is making me tense. It's useless. I might as well forget about it.

No – I know that once we're alone he'll have something to say about it.

I have no idea what he'll say… I just want to hear it and get it out of the way.

But if I asked to have a moment alone with him it'd seem so fucking gay.

I fucking hate this… I should not have to sit here and _wait_ for the opportunity for this suspense to just die! I should be able to take control and steer clear of whatever embarrassing shit is bound to happen…. No. I can take control of this. We work together in speech sometimes. All I have to do is seize the opportunity and nip this stupid situation in the bud. I don't have to deal with this. I just have to man the fuck up and confront him about it.

During lunch I spout out small talk while I let Kenny hold the conversation about Jennifer. It's mostly just him talking about how innocent and pure she is – which is his gateway into talking about previous experiences. Generally speaking, Kenny's a quiet guy, but once you get him going about his conquests you're gonna be sitting for a while. It thankfully gives me some time to think about what I'm going to say…

The whole time Kenny's talking Cartman's just staring hard at the surface of the table.

We finally get to speech class. Cartman always presents first - to assert dominance over the rest of the students, he says – but clearly he just likes to hear himself talk. I always present somewhere in the middle to make sure I have everything together. Once we've both presented, I start talking to him under my breath.

"I wanted to talk to you." I whisper softly.

Cartman's eyes raise from his desk to me in silent acknowledgement.

I stare at him for a few seconds. I feel my heart leap three times in succession. No – don't go speechless. You know what you want to say. You thought about it all day – why the fuck did I think about this all day…? Shit. I'm just staring at him saying nothing. Just say it…

"Why did you do that?" I force myself to say.

Cartman continues to stare, a slight quirk of his lips. I wait a few moments for him to dignify me with a fucking answer. "Do what," he says softly.

Do what?! Really?! He didn't just forget that shit! That's not something you do forgetfully!

"Kiss m— _you kissed me_ ," I whisper incessantly, ducking my head. I made sure to speak with less breath. Less chance of people hearing.

Thinking about it now, I chose a terrible time to ask this question. Someone could easily overhear me…

Cartman turns his head away from me, looking at the current speaker. If I were a less observant person, I would've missed the slight bob of his adam's apple. But I wish I missed it. It only makes my stomach knot tighter than it already was.

"I was out of it," He starts, "I couldn't see anything but your eyes. You looked like someone else."

"..Someone else..." I repeat. He didn't mean to kiss me, then..? "…Who were you—"

Cartman meets my eyes with an unreadable expression. "None of your business, Jew." He says with sudden stern volume. I stiffen and have to stop myself from leaning away from him. My stubbornness only serves to make our faces awkwardly close.

Cartman turns away from me with a huff and I realize that the whole class turned to see what the confrontation was about. I stare at them like a deer in headlights.

"Ookay, haha, don't hijack my speech, guys, you had your turn," The speaker jokes, getting a half assed laugh out of the rest of the students before returning to his presentation. I slump back in my desk, my face slightly pink from causing a disturbance.

Fucking Cartman. He knew that catching everyone's attention would bring the conversation to a screeching halt.

...But hey… at least I got that over with.

Cartman thought I was someone else… huh…

Well, the important thing to me is that he didn't intend to kiss _me_.

That's – a load off my mind.

The rest of the day pans out as it usually does. I head straight home just like my mom wants. I study, eat dinner, then I head upstairs to brush my teeth. As I'm brushing, I'm suddenly more aware of my reflection in the mirror.

My eyes… He said my eyes looked like someone else. But… now that I'm looking at them, my eyes are pretty big. Like not disney big, but they definitely are noticeably round. It's not every day I stop to examine my eyes, but I do get to see other people's eyes on a consistent basis. Who else has biggish round eyes like me..?

Stan's eyes are pretty common. ..Maybe it was Kenny? He kind of has roundish eyes. But they don't really look like mine. ...Actually… Butters does have eyes similar to mine. They're turquoise too. Kinda similar to my eye color. So… maybe he's having some kinda secret relationship with Butters and they kiss pretty often.

Ugh. I really _don't_ like the idea of being mistaken for Butters. I mean, he's nice and all, but the guy doesn't have much self-respect. If Cartman's having some weird affair with Butters, it's no wonder he got so defensive when I asked who he thought he was kissing.

Either that or, he was just lying.

It's not a stretch of the imagination to say that Cartman was just making up some excuse to avoid the real reason…

… Jesus, why am I thinking about this…?

"Hey, hurry up in there! It doesn't take anyone this long to brush their teeth!" Ike knocks at the door. I huff and make my way out of the bathroom.

I have to stop thinking about that stupid crap. It's over. It's settled. I can go back to my normal life now.

My normal monotonous boring fucking life.

The rest of the week seems to blend together. It's all the same shit. It's already fucking Friday for fuck's sake. I'm sitting in the locker room with Stan right now - probably the only interesting person these past few days. He invited me to hang out after practice before first period starts.

I honestly don't know where I stand with Stan. I like the fact that we're close but I can feel that underlying… affectionate tone to everything now. I don't really know how to feel about it. I mean, it's not one sided; I definitely have some feelings for him… but they feel… muted. Faint. I keep thinking that it couldn't possibly work.

There will be moments where we're talking in class and Stan will keep glancing over his shoulder to see what Lesley's doing or saying, or if she's looking at him. He keeps talking about Lesley as if it's completely over, but I know Stan. He can't get over people. Hell… it took him years to let go of Wendy. Lesley won't be out of his head for months.

That's why I'm so hesitant. The moment I let myself feel things for Stan, he'll look over his shoulder and all he'll see is Lesley.

"Hear any gossip lately?" Stan asks as he twists the knob of his locker.

I give Stan a blank glance. "You know I don't like hearing about pointless bullshit."

Stan turns his head. "You might wanna hear about this."

"What?"

"People are saying we're boyfriends."

I pause. I can tell Stan is watching for my reaction. At this point, I really don't know what to give him. "Boyfriends?" Shit… did somebody in our group out me to the school?

"They heard our spat last Friday…" Stan sighs, "before Calculus..?"

Really? From that conversation of all things?

"It's not a big deal, is it?" Stan laughs softly, "I mean… we've been getting pretty close so it's not like it's a lie."

"But that's not the point, Stan. I already told you I'm not ready to be out yet." I remind him.

Stan's in the middle of pulling down his pants when he gives me this extremely concerned look. He's only taking his pants off to change into clean ones, of course. He just got done with football practice.

"Are you ashamed of being gay or something, dude?"

I feel my jaw tighten, and when I see Stan's reaction I already know my expression betrayed me. He looks so thoroughly confused.

"Why?" He asks.

My hands grip each other as I look away. "It's not like I want to be this way, Stan. ...It's not like I _hate_ myself or anything. I just don't want other people to know."

Stan looks on sympathetically. There's still traces of concern in his eyes. "But there's gotta be a reason, Kyle."

"I don't know," I huff and lean against the locker. My fists are clenched. "I was always teased in middle school y'know. During adolescence, I was really emotional. Other guys would always assume I was gay, calling me a sissy and a weakling and all that shit. And after all that... it just seems like insult to injury that I actually am gay…"

"Dude... you never told me you were getting bullied-"

"I handled it myself." My self-consciousness is eating me alive. I feel like I'm shrinking. "... Even now, I'm just proving their point by feeling like I have to hide."

I feel cool fingertips brush against my heated cheeks. I look up and Stan's there, his eyes soft and inviting. He tilts my head up to him. Wait...

"Don't worry about other people, Kyle…" He inches in closer as his eyelids lower. "You have me." Warmth flutters in my chest as his lips softly touch mine. My hands clench. My breath stills. ...He's kissing me. ...Stan's kissing me… My best friend, my...

In the corner of my eye I catch a shadow moving. The sharp sound of a metal bin being knocked to the floor causes me to yank back. Stan still holds me, but his attention is directed to the noise as well.

"I thought you said no one else would be here." I utter softly.

Stan frowns. "They shouldn't be… maybe one of the other guys wanted to use this locker room too."

"Hey! Who was that?!" I shout across the locker room.

No answer.

"Maybe one of the ghosts followed us from the graveyard." Stan smiles.

"Uh huh."

"Anyway, you think I could get away with not showering?"

He lifts his arm and I immediately grimace. "Dude. Shower."

Stan laughs and grabs his clean clothes, heading to the locker room shower. I decide to follow him because, cliche or not, this is how all horror movies start. What was that noise? Ah who cares. I'm gonna take a shower. Call it silly. I call it a simple precaution. Stan steps the area of shower stalls, me holding Stan's backpack at the entrance of the showers.

"Hey, somebody's in here Kyle," Stan calls from the showers.

I peek in and immediately see what he's talking about. Through the frosted glass we see the figure of a guy using one of the showers. This must be the guy that knocked over that trashcan.

"Who's there?" I shout so he clearly hears me. The guy freezes.

"Dude." Stan points to the yellow backpack lying just outside the stall.

 _Seriously?_ It was him? "Cartman, what the hell are you doing here?!"

Finally he answers. "The fuck's it look like, Jew? I'm taking a fucking shower,"

"And why the hell are you using the _gym_ showers?"

"Brian poured cereal down my pants, nosy jew."

Oh, really? I open his backpack and take a look at his clothes. There's no sign of ruined pants anywhere, just one change of clothes. "I just checked your bag, you liar. So you wanna tell me why you were watching us in the locker room?"

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"Don't bullshit me, fatass. You know damn well you were watching us. Don't you have any shame in stalking people?" I growl. He quickly shuts off the shower and trudges out, sopping wet with a tired looking glare on his face.

"Get over yourself." Cartman says, grabbing his backpack and muscling me out of his way. Jesus. He just walked out of the shower stalls butt fuckin naked.

"Put some clothes on, dude!" Stan protests. "No one wants to see your flabby ass!"

"Yeah yeah," Cartman says as he walks away. I'm intentionally not looking at him, so I don't really see where he's going. Probably to the locker room to get dressed.

"Typical Cartman, huh?" Stan sighs.

"...Yeah," I say. But he's not really acting like himself. I mean yeah, he's unpredictable, but lately he seems really fed up. ...Whatever. It's not my problem. Especially when he was spying on us like that.

But he does seem really pissy lately. I mean… it makes sense. Clearly he saw Stan kiss me. It would make sense, since… he does like me.

As the day passes I don't see Cartman anywhere. Not in lunch, not in speech or in health class. That has to be it, then. Cartman was lying about there being somebody else; he _wanted_ to kiss me. And now that he saw Stan kiss me he stormed out of school because he was so upset.

...I always saw Cartman and I as two people that could never work as a couple. I shut it out of my mind for the justifiable reason that, if I were to be in a relationship with him it would be like rewarding him for his terrible behavior. With all due respect, he's displayed comparatively good behavior since the end of Sophomore year. But…

We could never work. We're not compatible. I have morals and Cartman just doesn't. He may act better now, but he's seventeen. If he were to get into the trouble he used to when we were ten he would be tried as an adult and thrown in jail for years, and that's the only reason he's behaving. Sure… he has empathy. But it's minimal. So how could I be with someone like that?

How could I even convince myself it's okay?

Then there's Stan… With him it seems like I always have some kind of emotional constipation. I know how the things he says and does _would_ make me feel, but the problem is, I'm not actually feeling it.

Ugh. That's how it is for every relationship with me. I should be more appreciative, but I feel incredibly numb towards most romantic approaches towards me. With girls… it makes sense. With Stan I can _feel_ something that's _supposed_ to be there but it's not. Maybe… maybe I should just let my guard down with him… just open up and jump into this whole relationship thing. It's so unfair to Stan for me to just sit here and watch him try to get me to open up. If I keep this up he'll just bend over backwards for me until he gets a response. And at that point, I'm no better than Lesley, am I?

I never thought I'd have to do this. I thought I'd just find someone I like and pursue them. That was always what I imagined. Romance shouldn't be a deep sigh and an "alright, fine…" ..but… I suppose forcing myself not to be so stubborn would be a good change for me.

The final bell rang just 10 minutes ago. For whatever reason, in every step I take I feel immense unease. There's something off about today. Something tense in the air… Better that I leave sooner than later. I see Stan at the end of the hall. He spots me and heads right to me. ...What's with the look on his face?

"Kyle, have you seen the new video on SPH Viral?" Stan's tone seems urgent.

"No," Of course I haven't. I'm grounded so I don't have my phone. Stan lifts up his phone to my face. He's been holding it in his hand the whole time… oh god what is it…? The title reads ' _Congratulations.'_ Stan hits the replay button.

It's us in the locker room. Me, with a shirtless Stan kissing me. There's a cheesy romantic track in the background, the video in black and white.

' _ **Description.**_ _Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski have a steamy exchange and start to make out. The rest is 2Hot4YouTube. Congrats you two on finally getting together!_

My blood runs completely cold. "Who the fuck submitted this?!"

My gaze whips around the hallway to find all the students in the hallway staring at me. They didn't _just_ start staring at me, did they? They've been staring the moment I walked out of my last period. SPH Viral is a channel that South Park High students submit gossipy bullshit to. They take videos of fistfights or scandals. That means every fucking student is going to know about this one thing that happened in the fucking locker room.

I'm trying to slow my breath, but I'm shaking with anger. Who the fuck sneaks into a locker room and films this kinda shit?!

Stan grips my shoulder. "It had to be Cartman, dude."

Of course. _Of course_ it's him.

Stan and I rush out of the school as fast as we can and jump into Stan's car. Cartman's probably sitting at home feeling so fucking proud of himself… We should've never let Cartman leave. He had no right being there with us. Nobody was supposed to be in that fucking locker room but us. That bastard… I can't believe he'd pull something like this…

We pull up in Cartman's driveway and waste no time tearing down the walkway.

"Get out here, Cartman!" Stan shouts as he pounds on the door. He looks pissed enough to kick this thing down. Just as I think the door's not going to open for us, it timidly creaks open, and Stan's fist narrowly slips off it. We're greeted with the face of Liane Cartman, a face I haven't seen in almost a year.

"Oh, Stan and Kyle," Liane regards us with vacant doe eyes. Jesus christ. She's in fucking lacy underwear. "What's the problem, boys?"

"Where's Cartman?" I growl. Liane's not about to throw me off with her weird antics. Liane tilts her head.

"Cartman? He's at school, isn't he?"

"No he's not," Stan cuts in, pushing the door open and muscling Liane out of the way. She can't do much against him since she's holding muffins for some fucking reason. "He's probably hiding in his room. Come on Kyle." I nod and follow him up the stairs.

"Wait, Boys, Eric's really not home," Liane calls after us from the bottom of the stairs.

Like hell he isn't. He always used to tell Liane to say that whenever he didn't wanna talk to us. It never worked. Why does he still try this shit? We get to the hallway and reach Cartman's room... the door's halfway open. Sunlight's filtering through it. ...Is this a trap?

I hesitate, but Stan doesn't think twice about busting in. "Hey Fatass!" He snarls as he marches in.

"Wait, dude!" I pipe up and follow him in, grabbing his arm through the doorway. I pause and then - like Stan - I'm sitting there completely stunned.

The room we're standing in is supposed to be Cartman's room. But it's completely empty. No - I don't mean Cartman's not in it - this shit is _completely empty._ No bed, no TV, no furniture, no posters… and probably the weirdest thing… the room's pink.

What we're looking at is an empty room with nothing but pastel pink walls. My eyes wander to find a lone empty paint bucket sitting in the corner.

"Oh, is something the matter, boys? You seem so upset." Liane says as she trots into the room.

I turn to her and silently stare for a few moments - still thrown off. "Why is this room… pink..?" I utter.

Liane looks around the room. "Why, I have no earthly idea, dear. You know Eric. He does strange things."

This doesn't make any sense. I shake my head. "Mrs. Cartman,"

"Mrs. Reynolds," She cuts in.

"...Where's your son?"

Liane shrugs. "He just goes wherever he wants. He could be anywhere, sweety."

Stan takes my arm. "Let's drive around town. He probably set this up to confuse us. We're not letting him get away with this."

"Okay…"

This doesn't make any fucking sense. There's no way Cartman took video, ran home, rendered and submitted it and then cleared out his entire room and painted it pink in one day. There'd have to be some foresight involved, but that's just not possible.

I really don't think that's what's going on here.


	10. Chapter 10

Stan and I make our way out of the Cartman household. We don't quite know what's going on, but we're going to continue looking for Cartman even if we don't really know where to start. Just winging it, I guess.

Just as we're about to pull out of Cartman's driveway I see a familiar car pull in behind us. Buck… he might know something about that pink room. I step out of the passenger's seat and approach the man.

"Oh hey, it's Kyle and Sam," He greets us and I'm a little thrown off by him calling Stan Sam. Stan will probably correct him on that so I don't think much of it.

"Buck… is it okay if I ask some questions?" I ask.

"Haha, what, are you a detective?" Buck gives me a playful smile. Normally I would just shrug this off but right now something about that comment brings my blood to a simmer. It's a little hard to ignore. Buck catches this expression on me and nudges my arm. "Hey, I'm just kidding. What's up little man?"

I bristle a little more noticeably, but don't voice my anger.

Stan instead speaks for me. "It's really Cartman who owes us an explanation. We went into the house looking for him but his room's completely empty."

Buck scoffs. "What'd that sleazeball do this time?"

"...It's personal." I'll just leave it at that. Our drama would probably seem incredibly stupid to him. "We just want to know what happened to his room."

Buck leans back against his car and sighs. "Guess you two wouldn't know since you haven't been over in a while. He's lost his privilege to a room over thanksgiving break. We cleaned out his room and moved the kid and all his things into the basement."

…

"I told Liane she could do whatever she wanted with that room." He continues.

Stan blinks and glances at me in slight confusion. "So... he's in the basement right now?"

But Liane said she didn't _know_ where he was.

"After he comes home from school he's supposed to be. He's been grounded." Buck explains.

Liane said he could be anywhere…

"We haven't seen him at school since the morning. He wasn't in last period with me." Stan says.

Buck purses his lips with a deep frown. "Seriously…? Ugh... he probably ran off again. That selfish little brat..."

"Does he do this a lot?" I ask.

"Listen, don't tell Liane. He's only doing this to get to his Mother. He thinks he can turn everything back to the way it used to be if he can manipulate her." He makes a point to open Stan's car door and gestures for us to go in. Hesitantly we comply. I'm glad I'm not the only one being thrown off by this situation. Stan seems dumbfounded as well. Buck lets out a long exhale, the cold mist buffeting outward from his lips. "You guys could probably guess but he'll be back soon. He never lasts a day out there anyway."

My gaze wanders to the cold stretch of sidewalk framed with snowy lawns. "Yeah…" It would be kinda tough to play hooky for days in South Park's winter.

"Thanks for letting us know what's going on Buck. We might be able to find him." Stan says as he turns on the ignition.

Buck shrugs. "I know you two are almost adults and all, but a little advice from a man who knows a lot of scumbags, don't get all bent out of shape over Eric. It's not worth it."

Stan looks pointedly at me, then smiles at Buck. "Good advice." ...Ugh. Okay, Stan. I get it.

Stan pulls out of the driveway and begins to head down the street to begin our search for Cartman. Buck waves us goodbye as we get further and further away. I sit back in my seat. My rigidness is noticeable against the pleather.

"Scumbag…?" I repeat in annoyance. Stan glances over at me.

"Honestly… it's probably pretty tough to live with Cartman." He answers with a shrug.

"Cartman's our _friend._ How does he think it's appropriate to call _our_ friend a scumbag to our faces?" I say as Stan turns the corner.

"I mean, Kyle, be realistic here. Cartman's always been a scumbag, even if he is our friend."

"It doesn't matter. What Buck's doing? That's like…" My hands clutch as I try to find the words. "It's almost like he's trying to undermine our friendship with Cartman."

Stan lets out a single laugh. "I think he's just being honest."

That's all he has to say about it. After a few passing moments I slump in my seat with a huff and stare outside the window. ...We're supposed to be looking for Cartman anyway. After what Buck said I'm putting together that he probably rendered that video in the basement. If he came home early he had plenty of time to post that video and then leave… he just would've had to sneak in and out without being noticed.

It seems like Buck always comes home shortly after the school day ends, so it would make sense that Buck didn't know up until now that he slipped into the house earlier. And Liane is just painfully oblivious of anything going on, as usual. Now that I think about it… he might still be in the basement.

I grab my phone from my jacket and send a quick text to Cartman's cell. A simple 'where are you?' is fine. I know it's pointless but just the confrontation with Cartman and asking why he did what he did will get me somewhere… I mean… maybe it really isn't that bad that people in school know I'm gay.

' _Failed to Send._ '

… I let my wrists fall into my lap, clutching my phone. "We should've asked to check the basement."

At this point we've traveled through a brief area of the town from our street to the town's graveyard. I guess Stan figured Cartman would take refuge in a place no one wants to be in.

Stan slows the car to a stop at a traffic light and lets out a deep sigh. "I know he outed us and all, but… maybe we should go home. You're getting all stressed out and that's probably what he wants."

I purse my lips. "We should still find him."

Stan's brow furrows. "I don't feel like going on a wild goose chase just to end up stroking his ego when we find him."

"A wild goose chase is when you're after something that you can't possibly find. How would we go on a wild goose chase _and_ stroke his ego?"

"Ugh, dude, it's the weekend." Stan says in exasperation, pressing the gas pedal when the light turns green. "Let's just go home and enjoy ourselves. We'll deal with Cartman on Monday."

He makes a turn to loop around back towards our street, and the rest of the ride home is just us listening to the radio and "chilling out." Jesus Christ, I wasn't even that mad. I just want to actually know for certain where Cartman is right now. But it's not like this is my car. And hey, after school I have to go straight home and start studying, so what the fuck am I doing out here in the first place, right?

Another week. Another week of this. As soon as school ends I just have to shut off socially and head straight home, no matter what happens in the week. _That's_ reasonable.

I can't help but wonder if parents like my mother just _forget_ the circumstances they were placed under when they were growing up. Maybe the pain of giving birth is just so intense she just forgets she was once a teenager with different values outside of 'not talking back to parents.'

...Knowing her and her past, she as a parent comes off as pretty hypocritical. But it's not like I could point that out to her.

The car pulls up and parks into the Marsh's driveway. Stan sits back and smiles at me in this reassuring way, though it doesn't do much at the moment. "Wanna come in?"

Oh god, that tone. That inviting tone. I've overheard Stan and Wendy enough times to recognize that tone instantly. My heart reacts by sinking and my eyes widen ever so slightly. That feeling in the air... I'm so fucking conscious of it… Christ what do I say to that? I feel like such an asshole not being - no - not _feeling_ so clear towards him. And now I've gotten myself in a position where I'm an asshole if I do anything besides date him. Christ… why did I let this happen…?

"Kyle?" Stan must think I'm spacing out. I wish I could use that kind of excuse.

Wait - Wait a second, what am I talking about?

"I can't, dude. I'm grounded for the next week, remember?"

How did I just completely forget when Stan said that? No matter what I hypothetically want to do, I'm grounded.

"Oh, right…" Stan frowns and rubs his chin. "What did she ground you for again?"

"I beat up Cartman for using the K word in front of Jennifer."

His eyes go wide and he scoffs in disbelief. "Jesus _Christ,_ Cartman."

"Yeahhh," I mean, that's just bad. There's no way around it.

"Is it really any wonder Buck hates him so much?" Stan continues, "He outs us for dating and he openly harasses people he doesn't even know."

...Now that I know Cartman has a crush on me, the ulterior motive behind him intimidating Jennifer is kind of staring me in the face. Not that it makes what he did any better, but...

"I can't _wait_ to find him on Monday. Teach him that he can't use jewish people _or_ gay people as his personal punching bags."

I give a side glance Stan thankfully doesn't catch. If he's teaching Cartman that lesson by punching him, that's a weirdly ironic statement. "Anyway… that's why I got grounded."

"Does your Mom know he used the K word?"

"No. She was too pissed off at the fact that I was being violent in front of Jennifer."

With a grumble Stan steps out of the car, comes over to my side and opens the door for me. "We need to talk to her." He takes me by the wrist and helps me out of my seat, which is really unnecessary, to say the least. Still there's something both flattering and insulting about him treating me like I'm some kind of ...royalty.

But we go up to my doorstep, ring the doorbell, and straight away Stan insists that we all need to sit down and talk. Mom is slightly taken aback that Stan is so vehement about having this discussion. I don't blame her. This kind of attitude from Stan is - new? No, just rare. It reminds me of when we were in Elementary. He's basically handling this situation the way he would handle someone who was justifying the mistreatment of animals.

For him to show that kind of passion towards me makes me think… I don't know. Maybe I'm not just his rebound...

My mom however responds to Stan explaining what made me punch Cartman with skepticism. "Didn't you have football practice when this happened?"

Stan's a deer in headlights. "..Well yeah, but-"

"So how would you have known what Eric said? How do I know Kyle didn't just tell you this to make Eric look bad?" Mom cuts him off.

"Mrs. Broflovski… with all due respect, I take Kyle's word for it because it's Eric Cartman we're talking about." Stan gives a little smile.

Mom flashes me a disapproving look before folding her arms and regarding Stan again. "That doesn't make sense, Stanley. Because during Thanksgiving Break Kyle had been going on and on about how proud he was that Eric had become so respectful. According to him Eric hadn't had one of those anti-semitic rants since Sophomore year."

Shit… I did say that. God dammit, I should've stopped Stan. This is probably just going to extend my punishment.

"It frankly seems convenient that he would all of a sudden use such a word without even being provoked." My mom continues, looking expectantly at Stan.

...Jealousy is pretty good provocation…

Now I can see Stan concentrating, thinking hard to try and vouch for me in some way… I myself don't really know a good way around this. I mean, what can you say? Stan _wasn't_ there himself, so you really do have to take my word for it. Then Stan's eyes light up and he takes his cellphone in hand.

"Kenny was there, wasn't he?" He asks me.

I blink in surprise as that enthusiasm returns to Stan's voice. "Yeah he was."

"Mrs. Broflovski, do you mind asking Kenny about what happened?" Stan offers his cell to my Mom. I'm half expecting her to just reject the idea… but she doesn't. She lets the phone ring and starts asking Kenny about the details of what happened last Wednesday.

This actually is a great idea. Kenny is Cartman's best friend. He has no reason to go against him and vouch for me. There's no bias there.

"So he definitely said…? - Oh… oh I see… Alright. Thank you Kenny. Tell your Mother I said Happy Holidays." My Mom ends the call and hands the phone back to Stan with a pointed sigh.

"So what'd he say?" Stan asks as he slips his phone back into his pocket, his eyes hopeful.

"Well, you two were right. Eric definitely said the K word. Very disappointing. He's getting back into his old habits."

"So now you can understand why Kyle found it necessary to fight him, right?"

My Mom releases a contemplative sigh. "Yes, I can understand that. ...Well, since you were on your best behavior for a week, Kyle, you don't have to be punished anymore."

...Really..? Stan… he made that happen? I look towards Stan who gives me a smile and nudges me with his elbow.

"When in doubt, ask Kenny. He's the most honest witness." Stan says to me confidently. I feel a little burst of warmth in my chest and can't help but smile.

"Why don't you stay a while Stan?" My Mom asks. "You can help Kyle open up the Hanukkah gifts he missed while he was grounded."

Stan raises an eyebrow. "It's Hanukkah?"

I honestly forgot too.

"For three more days it is. And I'm very relieved that Kyle will be spending the last three with his family. You can even light the candles tonight, bubbe!"

I give Mom a smile. "Thanks, Ma."

I'd much rather be looking for Cartman now that I'm ungrounded, but I concede and stay with my family to open my gifts. They're mostly clothes and accessories, but I appreciate these. Mom is finally starting to catch onto what I enjoy wearing. Between eating latkes and my family making small talk, I'm able to sneak a few minutes with Stan. I saw the irritated look on his face and like I thought, he was upset that my Mom would do something like celebrate Hanukkah without me. I have to explain to him that Hanukkah really isn't the Jewish Christmas.

Sure we exchange gifts and sing songs but it's by no means the most important Holiday, the way Christmas is to Christians. It's basically the equivalent of missing Valentine's day. If I had to call any holiday our Christmas, it'd be Passover. It's essentially a celebration of who we are as a people, after all. Once I tell Stan that he isn't all that irritated anymore.

Stan actually stays over long enough for me to light the menorah before going home. When he's ready to leave he gives me a heartfelt hug and wishes me a goodnight. I'm guessing if we were in a different scenario where my family wasn't watching, he would've kissed me on the cheek.

Or on the lips again.

When I sit back on the couch I notice Ike shooting me a wide smile. "So it's true."

God dammit.

"So what? Is it really that big a deal?" I ask in an admittedly defensive manner. Ike just clicks his tongue and leans back on the couch.

"I always knew, Kyle. This whoollle time." He taunts.

Great. As if he needed to be right about more things. I mean, of course he knows. He saw the video. He watches SPH Viral like all the other preteens. It's just lucky that my parents don't give two shits about my social life and are too caught up in Ike's academic successes to notice I'm dating Stan.

Well… testing the waters. SPH Viral can believe whatever they want. It doesn't alter reality. And once I get back in contact with Cartman I might be able to dig some evidence out and prove to the school that it was him that shot the video.

Dammit… that text still says 'Failed to Send' on it. Where _is_ he..? Why does he have his phone off? It's weird… I should be more pissy about the fact that he submitted that video but I really am much more concerned about the fact that I haven't heard from him in so long. Not just today - I mean in general. After I got grounded we didn't really talk to each other, even during school hours. He hasn't been talking much at all this week and then after this morning he completely disappeared. ...Was seeing me kissing Stan the nail in the coffin for him? Did he see that and just decide he's never gonna talk to us again?

...Ugh… the petty bastard…

The next morning is a Saturday. It's lucky that we don't go to school because that means I can figure this out faster. If Buck's right about Cartman not lasting through a day out of the house, and he very well might be, that would mean Cartman's in the basement right now.

At 7:00 AM sharp I'm all dressed and out the door of my house, headed down to the Cartman household. They used to live right next door but ever since last december, when Liane married Buck, they decided to get a different house. One of the newer ones that was constructed down the block. Strangely enough that house originally belonged to that weird kid named Dovah when we were young. Buck bought and renovated it, and ever since I've had to walk all the way to the end of the street in order to get to Cartman's house. Not that I come here much.

I shouldn't knock. Buck's probably gone and Liane doesn't have any useful information. To top that all off, if Cartman is in there and is trying to hide the last thing I want to do is alert him. All I really have to do is try to spot him through a window, then work from there.

… …

This is kind of like stalking, isn't it?

...No. I have a very specific motive, and that's to get evidence of him capturing the video. I just have to figure out where the basement is. Usually basements have small windows that can be seen from the outside. If I can just peek through that window I'll be able to see if Cartman's there and act accordingly. I circle the house to try and locate this particular spot. And really, come to think of it I've never been anywhere in this house except the living room and Cartman's room so it's no wonder it taking me so long.

Here. The basement windows are on the left side. They're just a little hard to see because of the tool shed and the bushes…

_Crk-!_

Wait.. what was that? It was really quiet, almost mute, but I'm sure it sounded like… glass breaking.

_Crsshk!_

I flinch at the sound at first, but my next instinct is to follow where it's coming from. I keep my footsteps light but swift and creep around the corners of the house until I locate the sound. It doesn't take me long… it's coming from the backyard.

I lay my eyes on the sight of Cartman breaking open the window to what looks like… the laundry room? ...Cartman's breaking into his own house. Should I stop him? ...He'd probably just run away and I'd never understand what he was trying to do. There's a nearby tree I can hide behind, so I watch from there instead.

After squirming his way through the laundry room window and a few minutes pass by, he comes out with his backpack suddenly filled to the brim. I get a good look at his face as he glances around. That pale skin is a stark contrast to those bags under his eyes he's been developing… It seems like every time I try to find answers with him it just leads to more and more questions.

I hear a chime come from his pocket and he pulls out his cellphone. Well, it's about time my texts went through. But he only gives the phone a quick glance before shoving it in his pocket and trudging through his backyard with that hefty backpack slung around his shoulder.

Wow. This asshole is really gonna ignore my texts right in front of me? Well to be fair he doesn't actually know that I'm here, but… still. I sent those texts _yesterday._

Uh… he's not going through his own gate. He's climbing over the fence to the next yard. What the hell is he doing? I step forward to try and follow his tracks, but there's really no way around unless I want to circle the entire street. The snow and brush is too much to be able to follow him by sidewalk. This bastard. He's really gonna make me jump through hoops to see where he's going, isn't he?

Well no. He's gonna make me jump over fences. Despite my hesitation I follow behind him, gripping the cold metal fences and leaping over them without much trouble. Thankfully for me my fence jumping is much quieter than his; 10 feet away I can still hear the chain link fences rattling frantically as he hauls his fat ass over them. Though giving credit where credit is due… he's going at a pretty steady pace with these fences.

He's got stamina, I'll give him that.

But it really is crazy nobody heard him nearly breaking their fences. Guess it really was smart for him to do this in the morning. The 'this' being rob his own fucking house for some reason. Does he really have so much pride that he can't just ring his doorbell? Is it just that nobody's home?

Anyway, I can't let him get away. Now that he's reached the end of the street, he goes to the corner and stops at the crosswalk like a normal person. I hide behind nearby brush so he doesn't happen to see me and it's around this time that I really do feel like a stalker. But I'm determined to figure out where he's going. After all he does owe us an explanation.

It's a tricky thing to follow him across the crosswalk, but I have no choice but to take the risk and hope he doesn't look back. I cross the street but don't follow his path in a straight line to ensure that if he does look back there's less chance of me being in his immediate line of sight. My orange fucking jacket certainly isn't doing me any favors.

What happens next is like following a rat through a maze. I'm able to follow about 10 feet behind at all times for a long while despite his seemingly spontaneous changes in direction. Sometimes he'll turn a corner that he's on and it will make sense, sometimes he will cross a street, just to look around and cross the street again, except diagonally. It's starting to seem like he's lost, because I don't know why else he'd be doing weird shit like that. Sooner or later though, we get to the commercial district of South Park. Downtown, full of alleyways and ominous fences to jump over.

And of course, after leading me through dark, creepy alleyways, Cartman eventually jumps over a shady looking fence. So now I stand at the edge of a forked alleyway, the frigid breeze making an ominous howl through the path as I hear ambient radio in the shadows. I swallow thickly. It may be the morning but that doesn't mean shit in a downtown alley. Even at the peak of day they're unsettling as fuck.

...Thankfully with my lag, I'm only a few feet into this shady alleyway and quickly back out of it and make my way back to the front of a coffee shop.

There's no way. No matter how curious I am there is _no way_ I'm following Cartman through a fucking downtown alleyway. Every time we come downtown it's for one thing - to play arcade games. We do that, maybe get a bite to eat and then get out as quickly as possible, because the commercial district is crawling with dangerous people.

...Maybe Cartman did see me. Maybe he wasn't going anywhere in the first place. He might've realized I caught him breaking in and ran all this way just to lose me. Just to go somewhere that he knew I wouldn't go.

But why would he put himself in that kinda danger? It's a fucking alleyway! Seriously, why is he being _this_ evasive of me? What's he so afraid of? I pull out my phone and text him,

'Is it really worth going through all this when you could just tell me to fuck off?'

Because seriously, this is petty even for him. I expect Cartman to have enough balls to tell me he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, no matter the circumstance. This is really disappointing.

'Failed to Send.'

Ugh. How convenient for him to turn off his phone right after reading the last two-

Wait.

'Failed to Send' is still on the other two texts I sent him. ...How's that possible? I saw him look at his phone. It was _on._ Even if he didn't directly look at my text, he still should've received them, especially with me being in such close proximity.

…

I back out of my text conversation with Cartman's contact. I scroll through my previous texts sent - the ones without contact info, and look for the words, "I just want something to happen."

I find it. That conversation, in Cartman's signature improper grammar, the conversation ending with,

' _ **i just wanted SOMETHING to happen.'**_

The spare phone he said he used when he was grounded… that might work. I think about sending a text… but instead, I just press call. Admittedly I'm getting pretty impatient.

-Wow, not only is the phone on, it immediately starts ringing. My heart skips a beat when it says 'call ended.' Yeah. This phone's on. This bastard just hung up as soon as I rang. I press the call button again. Almost on cue the phone hangs up again. I try again. This time it rings once, but soon after, the call ends. Then, I get a text.

' **stop calling'**

He has it. I text back.

' _Where are you?'_

I give him time to respond; a good two minutes. There's no response. So I press the call button again. He hangs up and sends me another text.

' **seriously'**

' _Tell me where you are and I'll stop calling you.'_

' **why?'**

' _Just tell me, asshole.'_

There's silence for a little while longer. I consider calling him again, but decide against it and send him another text.

' _Cartman, where are you?'_

…

' **City Wok'**

Finally. I don't know what's going on, but I make my way to the front of City Wok. After all these years, even though the last time I actually went in was 8th grade, I know where it is by heart. Conveniently it was right across the street. The problem is… Cartman's still nowhere to be seen.

' _You're not here.'_

' **not inside. i'm in the back'**

Oh. Does he mean in the dark fucking alleyways?

' _Well you better come out here. I'm not going into some shady alleyway to meet up with you.'_

Of course after committing robbery Eric Cartman tries to lure me into a dark alleyway. That's just textbook Cartman right there, isn't it. At least if he comes out here I'll have a _little_ reason to trust him.

' **fine'**

' **gimme a sec'**

Well I don't know how long a 'sec' is, but I decide to wait for him. If he isn't here in 5 minutes then I'm calling his phone again. But to my surprise in a matter of minutes he steps out from around the corner. Cartman stands in front of me with tired eyes, his hair mussed and his hands shoved in his pockets. His chilled breath is prominent when he lets out a heavy sigh.

" _What,_ Kahl?" He says.

I look him over once or twice before responding to him. It's surprisingly relieving to hear his voice. I have quite a few things to say and I don't really know where to start. I swallow thickly as I meet his tired eyes.

"What are you doing out here?"

He looks distant. "You told me to come out here."

"You know what I mean, smartass. What the hell were you up to in the back of City Wok?"

At that moment when I watch his expression harden as if he just smelt something foul, I almost think he won't answer me. I see him stare at the cold pavement at his feet as he takes in a deep breath, releasing it and watching the mist swirl from his lips. "It's a long story." He grunts.

"It's a Saturday morning. We have time." I quip.

He then takes a moment to look me up and down. "Sure but it's kinda cold out for that thin jacket. Knowing you, you'll wanna go home before I reach the halfway point."

That condescending tone he gives me sets me off a little inside - I almost wanna take off my jacket and just say, 'try me.' But I'm not that stupid. I am cold as fuck already.

"Let's get breakfast then," I say. Before Cartman can give me a reaction I've already turned around and started to scope out a place to eat. It doesn't take that long to find one at all since we're downtown, and I know the area pretty well. "Tweek Bros is right across the street. Wanna head there?"

"Tweek Bros _Coffee?_ " He says it so incredulously, with a look of disgust.

"We don't have to get the _coffee."_ I say. "Come on. I'm buying."

I don't waste a moment heading to the crosswalk and starting across the street. I look back and Cartman is trailing behind me - but that's no surprise. He can't turn down free food. There's thankfully only two other people in Tweek Bros when we walk in. I tell Cartman to pick a seat while I get in line, purchasing a toasted bagel for me and a bacon egg & cheese breakfast sandwich for Cartman. I swear to god when I put that sandwich in front of him his pupils grow like 4 times larger.

"So, back to my question… what are you doing all the way downtown so early in the morning?" I ask.

"Hmm, well you know me, I just do stuff." He answers in the middle of eating his sandwich.

"Fatass, I didn't come all the way out here to buy you breakfast just for you to give me basically the same answer you did out there. The fuck is up with you? Where have you been? Why weren't you at the bus stop after school?" He's really starting to piss me off with how avoidant he's being.

Cartman grumbles. "Don't talk so loud."

"There are two people here."

"Plus Tweek." He says under his breath, gesturing to Tweek working behind the counter. Yeah… the asshole is definitely trying to snoop. But so what? Who's gonna believe Tweek's gossip anyway?

Ugh. It's still worth talking quieter. I lean in closer to Cartman and use a hushed tone. "Really though… I'm worried about you."

Cartman lowers his eyelids a little, then sighs into his breakfast. "You do that a lot."

"So stop dancing around the question."

He rolls his eyes slightly. After a few moments of contemplation, he swallows what he's chewing and meets my eyes. "I got kicked out."

...That's very different from running away. Very. "You got kicked out of your house for submitting that video?" I ask.

Cartman raises an eyebrow. "Video?"

"The new one on SPH Viral."

Cartman's expression is blank when I say this. He's gotta be playing dumb. There's no way the king of gossip doesn't even so much as know about the new video on that channel. Even if he didn't do it.

"You know, the one that was posted yesterday at the end of the school day? You had to have come home and seen it at some point."

Cartman gives a light chuckle, though from the sound it's a very bitter one. "Kahl, I haven't been in my house since Sunday. I don't know what's going on on the fucking internet."

My eyes widen slightly. "Sunday? You mean since we went to that graveyard?"

"Yeah."

"You're not serious."

Cartman gives me a tired looking expression. "Can't you tell by the smell of my jacket? I mean I tried to cover it up but it still fucking stinks." He offers his jacket sleeve to me.

Yeah… it definitely has that scent of stale old clothing. But in the cold I guess it's hard to notice unless you're wearing it.

"Where have you been sleeping?" I ask.

Cartman gives me a slightly worried look and sniffs his sleeve. "...Does it smell that bad? I don't sleep in garbage or anything."

"Ugh, no. It's barely noticeable. Really. I'm just wondering where you've been sleeping for a week."

He tries to hide it but I do see the relief wash over his face. Jesus. If I was homeless for a fucking week I don't think I'd be that worried over how my clothes smelled. His priorities are weird. He takes a small bite of his sandwich, which I'm surprised he hasn't finished by now. "Just like… bushes and stuff nearby. And empty alleys."

I rest my forehead on my palm and take a breath. "Jesus, dude…" That's why he was in the locker room's shower. God… why didn't I fucking put _that_ together? There's literally no other reason he'd be in there instead of using his own shower.

"...Thanks for uh.. taking me to breakfast though. I… didn't know what I was gonna do for food on the weekend." The way Cartman says this tells me he really doesn't like admitting it.

Christ. Seeing him like this… I can't believe I'm saying this but I feel a lump in my throat. "Do you need any money?" I reach for my wallet as I say this, but the way Cartman reacts makes it seem like I'm reaching for a god damn gun. He opens his mouth, no sound sound coming out at first, and his eyebrows furrow as he clears his throat.

" _No._ " Cartman says with a grit of his teeth. "I'm not a fucking hobo."

"Cartman. This isn't the time. I can help you." I try to keep my tone neutral because I know he has pride issues, but holy hell this is frustrating.

"It's fine. I took a buncha money from the house this morning." He insists, his arms rigid against the table.

"You just said you didn't know how you were gonna eat."

"I was just exaggerating. I have money."

I release a heavy, frustrated sigh as I let my wallet fall back into place in my pocket. This fucking liar would rather keep his pride than actually be able to pay for food… Fine. I know an easy fix for this anyway. Just bring food to him. He can deny money but he can't deny food.

"Do you usually stick around this area?" I ask.

"Yeahh… it's a shit show around here, but at least no one from school can catch me being homeless." Cartman mutters as he plays with the wrapper of his now eaten sandwich.

"But don't you worry about getting jumped in those alleyways? This is like… the most dangerous part of town."

"Pfft. Nah. As long as I stay on the opposite side of the night club, I'm golden. Sick fucks around there. They're like magnetized to that area." His answer just serves to make me more worried.

"You know… this is just stupid. You really just need to suck up your pride and talk to your parents, dude. Just… whatever went wrong, whatever made them so mad, let's just talk it out." I say, because honestly no matter how much Buck and him hate each other, there's no way he should be out here fending for himself any longer than he already has. This punishment is way too much.

A strange smile appears on Cartman's face. He does that sharp nasal exhale that people do when they want to express that they find something funny, but don't really feel like putting in the effort to actually laugh. "You're funny, Jew." He says, leaning his cheek in his hand and letting his gaze wander to the window.

"If you don't do it, I'll talk to your parents for you." I offer.

While still looking out that window Cartman uses his free hand to shrug, his palm upward. "Do what you want, Jew. Lemme know how it goes."

Does he really think they won't forgive him? It's a little absurd to think your own parents - well, parent and step-parent would let you live without a roof over your head. But it is Cartman. His anger and spite can probably make him lose faith in the decency of people sometimes, ironically. And hey… being homeless for 6 days straight sounds like it'd fuck with you. He's probably in a pretty weird place.

After a while he glances back over to me and smiles amusedly. "You look so stressed."

Why wouldn't I be? I just learned one of my friends is homeless. There's nothing weird about being stressed for your friend. … But that smile he gives me makes me feel weird about it. I can't look at him without feeling anxious now.

"So what's the new SPH Viral video?" He suddenly asks.

My hands instantly squeeze together. "Uhhm…" Since I'm not subtle at all about my body language Cartman is very aware of my nervous energy. I can see the interest swell in his eyes and it just serves to make me more anxious. "Well... it's really out of context-"

"Show me." Cartman interrupts in a demanding tone. I feel the hairs on my neck raise and purse my lips as I grip my phone.

The last thing I want to do right now is bring Cartman's mood down any lower than it already is… but there's nothing I can say to talk him out of wanting to see the video.

I pull up YouTube and click to the ' _Congratulations_ ' video. There's a tight feeling in my stomach while it plays - while I watch Stan and I kiss in slow motion, completely in black and white paired with romantic music. Christ, this is so embarrassing. The dumbfounded look on my face, the way my arms went totally limp; what was I even doing? Do kisses just turn me into pudding? I hear a sort of splutter from Cartman and my heart jumps, looking up from the screen and feeling a harsh twinge of guilt for even showing him this.

"You thought _I_ submitted this drivel?" Cartman asks. "Why?"

I'm silent for a moment, not knowing what to say at first. "Because you were the only one in the locker room with us that we saw. You have to admit it makes sense to think you at least captured this."

"With _what?_ I can't spawn a camera out of my ass, Kahl."

I roll my eyes. "Don't play dumb. You know how to take video on your iPhone. I've seen you do it a thousand times."

Cartman huffs exaggeratedly at me and digs in his pocket. "Okay, first of all?" He tosses his phone onto the table, making the wood rattle with the impact. "That's a Nokia. That stupid brick is the only phone I've been able to use since Sunday. There's no way that video was shot with my shitty 5 megapixel Nokia camera."

I take a closer look at the phone on the table. Wow. From far away it looks like a standard iPhone, but up close you can tell how bulky the thing is. It's got a touch screen like an iPhone but when you touch it it feels like jello and in general is unresponsive as fuck.

I stare at the phone, sucking my teeth a little. "Good point. I can tell that phone's camera is shit just by looking at it."

"I mean let's be real, that video probably wasn't even shot with a phone." Cartman adds.

My expression turns from dejected to blank, my gaze turning back to Cartman. "What?"

Cartman takes my phone and replays the video. "See the way it zooms there? It's seamless. There's no choppiness at all. There's no swaying and not even the slightest bit of motion blur from the zoom happening." He explains.

I take a look at the video… he's right. There's no movement of the camera when they zoom in, when normally a person tapping their screen to zoom would mean you'd see a slight jerk in the video, along with a tapping sound. How'd I not catch that?

He continues, "Oh look. There's no vibration on this video either. Like none. People's hands aren't that steady so this camcorder they're using either has a pretty good VR lens or it's on a mobile tripod. There's no way it's a cellphone."

To be honest, I never thought his geekboner for cameras would ever be useful. Yet here we are.

"So… you're right, it definitely wasn't you…" I mumble, feeling bad for even accusing him of that.

"Nope. I wouldn't record you and the hippie making out if I had a gun to my head." He says.

The bitterness in his voice isn't lost on me. I almost wish I could make myself a memory gun and sap that video out of his brain.

"Either way I don't appreciate the misleading description. Stan and I aren't together. He just kissed me." I say.

For a few moments Cartman seems silent, staring at me as if my face is covered in some foreign language he's trying to decipher. "Who are you kidding, Kahl? You and Stan are totally together."

"That's what everyone's telling me. Frankly it's a pretty rude assumption."

"No it's not. You two hold hands and kiss-"

I slam my hand on the table, not loudly, but suddenly enough to make Cartman jump. " _I_ did not kiss _him._ He kissed _me,_ and I didn't know how to _feel_ about it. That does _not_ mean we're dating."

Crap… I guess I was madder about that than I thought. Thankfully I still spoke under my breath, but hitting the table was a bad idea. The other two people in the coffeehouse are staring at me, along with Tweek. And- yeah. Cartman's staring at me too. With those piercing icy blue eyes. I feel a chill just looking into them.

I fold my arms and slump into my chair, feeling the need to look away. "It's just… indecisiveness isn't compliance, you know…?"

What am I even doing? Cartman's out on the streets and I'm over here bitching about how people are kissing me and I can't tell if I fucking like it or not. If anyone has first world problems it's my ungrateful ass. Cartman doesn't need to hear all this bullshit right now. I turn back to him with an apologetic gaze.

"Look.. uh.. I know I'm-"

"Excuse me, Eric and Kyle?" I hear Tweek's unsettled voice interrupt my thought and turn my attention towards him. He seems rigid and wide eyed. "I just wanna let you know real quick-"

"Get the fuck out of here Tweek," Cartman cuts in. This makes Tweek start to fidget, gripping the platter he's holding.

"Ahh! No I'm not being nosy or anything uh I just wanted to let you know something useful!" Tweek grunts out hastily.

"What is it, Tweek?" I ask him calmly. Maybe even though I'm uncomfortable myself he'll serve as a distraction.

"I just, I saw Eric around this week a lot and uh!" The small blonde boy squirms around in his own apron and places a crumpled note on the table. "Have a good day!" He says before speeding back behind the counter.

I stare at the note, then look to Cartman, who only gestures with a confused frown and upturned palm towards Tweek. When I decide to uncrumple the note, it reads:

' _Every night at 10pm I place the unused pastries we have into a big white box with a red stripe on the side. They're a little stale but safe to eat and they're usually at the top of the dumpster. They even have a plastic bag to keep them clean.'_

Cartman reads this as well, then frowns disapprovingly. "Looks like I'm going full hobo."

"It's something." I shrug. Beggars can't be choosers is what I really want to say, but jokes don't seem appropriate right now. It's around this time, when I'm finally starting to relax, that my phone goes off.

' _Where are you, Bubbe? You have to be home by lunch to play Jenga! - Mom'_

Oh yeah… I guess since the competition's over we can finally do Boardgame Saturday again. ...It would be pretty weird for me to invite Cartman over with no explanation, but… "Wanna stay at my house for a little while? Maybe you won't need the pastries and we can talk it out with your parents later."

Cartman looks slightly caught off guard by that. "You think your jew parents are gonna let me sleep in their house?"

"No dude, just till we get your situation in order. We can talk to Buck and Liane about it later tonight. I'm sure they'll take you back in."

Cartman purses his lips, taking in a deep breath. He then stands from his seat, adjusting his backpack. "Maybe later. I gotta get my shit together. You know, wash the shit out of my hobo clothes at the laundromat all that good shit."

I stand up out of my chair too. "Cartman, come on. Just suck it up and apologize. Having a roof over your head is worth more than your pride." I have to follow him as he walks out of the coffeehouse.

"It's not gonna work." He mutters, more to himself than to me.

"What are you talking about?" I step in front of Cartman and block his way. "Buck's an asshole but he's not so fucked up that he'd let you live out here forever. He couldn't anyway. Liane wouldn't let him. You _have_ to know that."

He's no longer making eye contact with me now. His eyes are fixated onto his shoes. "...I'll text you, Kahl. I just really gotta get my shit together."

I sigh deeply. "...Okay. But don't take longer than a day. I want to help." Cartman simply nods with his eyes still locked on the ground. ...If there's one perk to being short, it's that I can just duck a little and get right within his line of sight. "Hey. Call me, okay?"

He wasn't expecting that. He gives me a long, blank stare, before his eyelids lower. "Okay."

Good… that puts me at ease, at least for now. I gently pat his arm and give him a reassuring smile before I turn and start heading towards home. There's no way I feel comfortable leaving a friend to sleep in an alleyway, but he seems to know his way around. Once I talk to Buck again about his living situation Cartman won't have to be in danger anymore. And hey… maybe I can help Cartman bring this weird ordeal he has with Buck to an end.


	11. Chapter 11

The walk back to E. Bonanza Street is a long and quiet one. But hey, my brain is flooded with preoccupying thoughts so what the hell do I care. I have to think of what I'm going to say when I get back to Cartman's house. My Mom and her insistent family bonding time can wait and it's not like she'll be too bothered by me being late. She's probably still on her "My adopted Son won a national competition" high. I plug my earbuds into my phone, letting my music pick up the pace of my steps.

It shouldn't be too hard to think of what to say to Cartman's parents, really. Whatever might be going on, Cartman is still Liane's son. She of all people wouldn't let Cartman freeze to death. I've known that since we were young.

Whenever we went on camping trips she made it a point to make sure he really wanted to go. She'd fold every single one of his clothes and neatly pack them into his backpack along with a meal of his choice, even if it took all day to accomplish and kept us waiting. She told him over and over that he should call her if he needed her for anything.

Back then, her coddling always pissed Cartman off, but he probably misses that right about now…

My footsteps slow to a stop when I feel a tiny soft particle land on my face.

...Snow… Right now it's coming down in gentle sprinkles.

Dammit… I hope Cartman will be alright out here. Hopefully the snow's only a light layer…

Oh, what am I saying? I can get him home before the night ends.

My steps escalate to a brisk walk, then to a jog. It's only 11 AM, but the sooner I get this over with the better. The Cartman household is thankfully at the end of the street and comes into view quickly. Whenever I can see my goal I tend to get there faster. I make my way down their extensive walkway and up the doorstep.

All they need to know is Cartman's being stubborn and needs a little push to apologize. Parents tend to listen to the defense of their kid's friends better than the kid's own defense. And when we're talking about Cartman, he could definitely use the help. I press my finger to the rounded doorbell and let it ring, letting my music play in one earbud while I wait.

Now that I think about it, was anyone home when Cartman broke in this morning? There didn't seem to be any reaction at all to the glass shattering.

Huh. I wonder if it was too quiet for them to hear from anywhere except the back?

Just then the door opens, and I'm once again greeted by Liane Cartman.

"Oh, hello again Kyle." She coos. She's dressed a little more modestly now, wearing a billowy nightgown.

"Morning Mrs. Cart-"

"Reynolds," She speaks over me.

Bad start already. "Liane will probably be easier for me to remember." I say.

Her smile widens and she places her hand on her hip. "What can I do for you, sweety?"

My gaze can't help but wander to the crack in the door, as if by instinct I want to peek in and see why it's open just a crack. Though from here there's nothing to see except cream colored wallpaper. "Well, I actually wanted to know if I could talk to both of you. ...It's about Cartman-er, Eric."

Liane tilts her head ever so slightly. "There's no need to correct his name too, silly. Eric's still a Cartman."

"...Okay… anyway, can I speak to Buck?" I ask, hoping I don't come off as too rude. But considering this is Cartman's mom she probably isn't too bothered by that.

"Buck is still at work right now, Sweetie. Why don't you come back around four thirty?"

I chew inwardly on my lower lip. Four thirty is five hours of Cartman sitting outside with no shelter from the snow….

"Well, I also wanted to ask, uh..." I cut myself off, my thoughts interrupting me.

"Yes, Kyle?"

Whether or not my gut feeling is right, the truth is I barely even know what's really going on between these three. I can't really say that Buck's lying when he tells me Cartman ran away, or that Cartman's lying when he says Buck kicked him out. Either could be lying.

"Did you hear anything this morning?" I ask Liane. Digging for information isn't going to stir the pot anyway.

"You mean the break in?" Liane asks and I perk up.

"Oh so… you knew,"

"I heard it but I didn't go see who it was. They could've been armed." She says with a concerned expression. "Why? Did you see who it was?"

I'm resisting the urge to make a very skeptical expression. "No… Cartman just told me about it."

I notice Liane's lips twitch in a way that I can only describe as... unsettling. I'd say strange, but… for some reason, it gave me a chill. But she continues, "How is he?"

How is he...? Does she know? Or is that just to say 'Is he unharmed by the burglar?' I'm so thrown off by this that I just respond with, "I don't know." In a disheartened mumble. I probably look dumbfounded, staring at her like she has three heads.

Liane's warm smile returns. "It's alright, Kyle. Cartman's mommy will have it all taken care of. Don't worry. Alright?"

I stare blankly at her. What? Why did she refer to Eric as Cartman, and… what's being taken care of? The burglary? Or is she telling me she's gonna get Cartman back?

"You have a great day, Kyle." Liane coos as she grips the door and slowly begins to close it. At the last moment she peeks out and gives me a cheeky smile. "Oh, and a great Shalom!"

With that, she closes the door.

...Not even including the fact that Liane said 'have a great peace' when she probably meant Shabbat, that was a seriously bizarre interaction. Does it just run in Cartman's family to be as vague and confusing as possible? Especially her facial expressions… she was seriously throwing me off.

Ugh, but what do I do now? Am I really going to sit here and wait for four thirty to come when Cartman's spending another day out in the cold?

With an exasperated sigh I yank out my phone and text Cartman again.

' _Dude, come over to my house. You don't need to be in the snow.'_

I start walking home to my house which is practically on the other side of the block, and Cartman isn't responding. ...Should I just go back downtown and get him..? Something might have happened.

Just then I get a text back.

' _ **what they say?'**_

' _Buck's not home yet. We can go back at 4:30 to talk to both of them.'_

' _ **nothx. ima stay out here.'**_

...What? Seriously?

' _Dude, the snow isn't gonna melt. You need to just get over what's going on at your house and think about your well being like a reasonable person would.'_

I really wish I could understand what's going on here. What the hell is repelling Cartman so hard that he won't even go into his own house? I know they kicked him out but he can't seriously believe they can keep him out if I'm there witnessing everything, can he? ...Or maybe he just doesn't want to be exposed as a liar…

' _Can you at least tell me why you don't want to go home?'_

' _ **no'**_

Fucking hell.

' _Dude, WHY?'_

' _ **u pryd enough'**_

My lower lip's starting to sting from me clenching my teeth around it.

' _It's starting to sound a lot like you just ran away, Cartman.'_

I don't know what else to do. I offered to sort this out for him but it's really fucking frustrating that he doesn't want to contribute in any way. But more importantly, he's insistent on staying out in the cold. If he really is just trying to manipulate his mother then… I don't know. Should I really offer my house to him?

I mean... I guess I really don't have a choice. He's endangering himself at this point.

' _Look, just come over to my house. I don't want you to be out in the snow.'_

Technically this could be considered enabling him if it turns out he really is running away to manipulate his mom's emotions. But to be honest, I'd rather him be a petty asshole over letting him get hypothermia.

I get another text from my Mom telling me I should already be home by now before I get anything else from Cartman. Ugh… I'm pretty much 3/4ths of the way home, and he's not responding. Fuck, of all places to camp out, why did he have to choose downtown?

Okay… that's enough worrying. Cartman knows how to take care of himself, he'll be safe. And he'll figure a way out of the snow. Maybe Tweek will let Cartman sleep in the back of the shop.

I walk back into my house, clearing the thoughts of Cartman from my head best as I can. I sound like an overprotective Mom anyway. My family welcomes me home and I'm actually kind of surprised with how enthusiastic they are. Like they missed me.

Hah, haven't heard that one in a while. The only one I actually believe missed me is Ike.

We set up Jenga and Ike is ecstatic. For whatever reason this is his favorite game. I mean, it's a fun game, but I don't know if it's my favorite. I like Betrayal a lot better. Jenga is just a bunch of wooden blocks stacked up in a tower. We pull away at the pieces and whoever's piece makes the tower collapse is the loser. It's not very eventful in my opinion.

We play a few times and much to my frustration, I lose twice in a row. Ike is very vocal about being pleased with himself.

"Are we playing anything else?" I ask.

"Don't be rude, Kyle. This is Ike's favorite game." My Dad answers.

I resist the need to roll my eyes. I don't know how many times they've told me.

"I don't think I've ever even seen Ike lose at Jenga. Not once!" Mom says with a beaming smile.

"Tell me about it," Dad adds on, "I was at it for hours with him and he always knows which pieces to pull. No matter how much the tower shakes it never falls when it's Ike's turn."

"Heh. That's why it's my favorite," Ike says placing his arms at the back of his head.

I can see the pride in my Dad's eyes when he smiles. He leans forward and asks, "How do you do it? Is it like a Math thing?"

"It's a physics thing." I answer.

"Actually Kyle, it is a math thing." Ike says, "I use mathematical projections to know which piece would knock everything down."

"But it's more specifically Physics. The Mathematical projections you're making are based on gravity which is a part of physics." I explain to him.

"Kyle," My Mom starts, "Don't talk down to your brother."

"...I wasn't. I was just trying to be part of the conversation." I can feel the slight knit of my brow.

The silence that comes afterwards makes me slightly queasy.

"Hey, I've got an idea," My Dad says shifting in his seat with a smile. "Why don't you two play a round against each other?"

Ike turns and flashes me a smile as well. "That'd be fun!"

I'm not as enthusiastic. Red flags are going up in my head. "I'm all Jenga'd out."

"Aw, come on, Kyle. Don't you want a little challenge?" My Dad encourages.

I purse my lips. "I mean, we already know he's gonna win, don't we? ...He's in a whole other league."

Dad leans back into his seat, the tension mysteriously leaving his body. "You're probably right, but it'd still be fun."

That's what you want, isn't it, Dad? You want me to praise Ike like you guys do. The only other option was to have me directly compared to Ike and be humiliated for my crime of 'correcting' him.

I take a deep sigh and rub my head.

"What's the matter, Kyle?" Mom asks with worry in her tone.

"Nothing. I'm just distracted." I deadpan.

"Whatcha distracted by?" Dad asks.

Fucking hell. ...Well, I do have a genuine question.

"I'm just curious. Isn't leaving a minor to fend for himself for an extended amount of time punishable by law?"

Everyone's eyes are magnetized to me now.

"Why are you asking that?" Dad quirks an eyebrow.

"...Well, uh… a friend of mine might be in a situation like that."

"A 'friend.'" His eyes narrow on me.

"Don't be ridiculous, Kyle. We only left you to take care of the house for the weekend." Mom pipes up defensively.

"How could you even imply something like that to your parents?" Dad adds on.

I don't resist rolling my eyes now. "Oh my god, I'm not talking about _me!_ I'm just trying to help a friend out!"

"Who is it?" Ike asks. He actually sounds genuine, going by his tone.

I breathe a small sigh of relief as my eyes soften at Ike. Thank god someone's taking me seriously in this house. "That's the thing. I know they don't want me to talk about it to anyone."

"Well, even if we are talking about a real person, that'd be a hard case to make." Dad says. "Child abandonment is a felony, but we're in Colorado. It's really easy to defend child abuse here if you just hide behind religious beliefs."

I furrow my brow at that. It certainly would explain a lot about this entire town, but, "Jesus Christ."

"I blame the Mormons." Dad shrugs.

Time passes a little more quickly after that. We play a few other board games that Ike likes and have a late lunch. The clock strikes two and I check my phone again.

Nothing from Cartman. ...I hope he's okay. But Stan is texting me, asking to hang out. I've really been avoiding whatever's going on between us, but to be fair, I have been distracted with Cartman's mess. ...Well.. I could kill two birds with one stone. I send Stan a text.

' _I need your help with something. Could we take your car downtown?'_

When Stan pulls up he's surprised to see me carrying a big, heavy blanket.

"Whoa. You donating to a homeless man, Kyle?" He jokes.

When I get into the car I pause to look him in the eye. "Actually, yeah."

He catches that solemn tone in my voice.

On the drive over I explain everything I know about the situation to Stan. He allows me to talk to the point that I almost think he's not listening, but I know Stan just doesn't know what to say a lot of times.

"That's… rough." Is all he can manage.

"I knew something was off once we saw that pink room. I wish I called Liane out then. Too many things don't add up."

"What did Buck say?"

"He's not home yet. I have to wait and see."

We pull up to the Tweek Bros Coffee House. I expect Cartman to be hanging around here since it's his food source. I lead Stan around the back, entering the alleyway.

He hesitates. "You sure this is safe?"

My brow furrows, and I glance around cautiously. I really didn't think this through before just jumping out of the car, huh…?

"...Not every alley is shady, Stan. We're just behind Tweek Bros." I insist.

"Tweek Bros is shady." Stan says. "And Cartman can be, too."

"Well, he's homeless right now Stan. So stop being a dick and come with me."

After our little spat I quickly spot the dumpster of Tweek Bros, a moderate blanket of snow draped over it. Christ... I hope I don't find a Cartman shaped snowman next to it. Just then I spot the maroon-red jacket I saw this morning, now powdered with a layer of snow on the shoulders and the hood, which is pulled over Cartman's head.

"Thank god, there you are." I breathe a sigh of relief.

Cartman scoffs. "I have a jacket, Jew. Don't have a heart attack."

He says as he's sitting in the snow with normal jeans. It's already started melting through the fabric. I take the rolled up comforter from atop my shoulders and grip my arms around it.

"Stand up, Cartman."

I see his eyelids lower and catch the beginning of a smile on his face. Regardless of whatever snarky comment he made in his head, he does stand up and I open up the blanket. Suddenly, Cartman freezes up.

Figuratively.

"...Kahl."

"What?"

"Why is Stan here."

I look over my shoulder at Stan, who's simply watching us silently, then turn back to Cartman. "I mean, he did drive me here. You're welcome."

Cartman narrows his eyes at me and then huffs.

"Hey, what'd I do to _you_ Cartman?" Stan asks.

Cartman responds by making that exasperated scoff he always makes when something is apparently obvious.

…-Oh..

"The school paper's writer's bitch, coming over here to watch me be homeless?" Cartman says, "Why don't I just do an interview for you too?"

Somehow I don't think that's what he's angry about.

"You really think I'd go putting you in the papers?" Stan raises his voice slightly.

Cartman rolls his eyes. "Pfft. Even if you didn't want to, I'd be in the school paper. When you're with chicks your thoughts are on a sign in neon lights."

"What does _that_ mean?"

Stan and Cartman bickering, huh? I haven't seen that in a few years. They usually just ignore each other for a while if they have problems, but Cartman's probably irritable with his whole situation. As they continue I clear off a space and neatly set the blanket at Cartman's feet. It's a thick enough material that a little snow at the bottom won't soak into Cartman's pants and make his legs numb. And it's big enough that it'll wrap around Cartman's whole body…

...Probably.

"You're way off base, dude. I broke up with Lesley a while ago." I hear Stan say as I flatten out the surface of the comforter and stand back up. I wouldn't exactly call it a while ago. It's only been a week.

-Oh god.. Stan's not gonna say he's with me to spite Cartman, is he? My body tenses up just thinking about it. He did it to Wendy, who's to say if Cartman didn't irritate him enough…

"Dude, don't," I say hastily right when Stan was about to speak. ...Great, now both of them are expecting me to say something. I clutch my sweaty palms and look at Stan. "Don't argue with him about stupid things. It's a bad idea to be noisy back here."

At that moment Stan looks around cautiously. Well, that is true, isn't it? We're in the shitty part of town… Figures I would say something to shut Stan up and I end up shutting myself up as well.

Cartman's laughter breaks the silence, catching me somewhat off guard because of how villainous it always sounds. "Pussies. It's Tweek Bros. Nobody comes here except crackheads who like the their shitty coffee."

Stan shivers. "It doesn't change the fact that it's an alley, dude."

"So what? Nothing happens." Cartman says. "It's actually disappointing."

I shake my head at his statement. "Don't tempt fate, idiot."

"Sounds like you want to be out here Cartman." Stan adds.

"Oh does it." Cartman plops down into the comforter, gripping the sides and draping it over his shoulders. "Kinda warm in here."

I raise an eyebrow. "It's better than snow, isn't it?"

Cartman shrugs. "Yeah."

"Thought so." An awkward pause fills the air. "...I'm glad nothing really happened to you." I add on.

Cartman smiles. "That's 'cuz I'm not an idiot. The only alleys I go through are the ones behind City Wok and Tweek Bros. The arcade and the nightclub? Fuck those alleys."

"If you were really smart you'd be in a residential area." I say.

Cartman's smile drops and rolls his eyes. "The whole point is for no one to see me." He shoots a glare at Stan and then to me. " _Kahl._ "

I return the glare. "Good point. What you really would've done if you were smart is sucked up your pride and went home. Then you wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing you."

"Whoa Kahl, did you come here to be a good person or air out my dirty laundry?"

I open my mouth to speak again, but…. Ugh. I already told Stan the whole story beforehand. I know it's just Cartman's sense of pride, but I do feel like I've wronged him in a way for telling Stan.

At the same time… "Stan's your friend, dude. He wants to help you." I say. Stan gives me a quick side glance before directing his attention back to Cartman.

Cartman huffs. "You better not tell anyone else, jock."

"...I really feel the love right now." Stan says.

After a few back and forth quips, I realize that Cartman is too standoffish to have an extended conversation with. We decide to cut the conversation and get back in Stan's car. On the drive home Stan questions whether or not Cartman is being genuine or pulling a stunt. I can't really fault Stan for thinking that. I'm skeptical myself.

For most of the afternoon Stan and I stay at his house. We always had a Saturday morning ritual where we'd hang out in the living room and watch Terrance and Phillip. But now that we've seen all the episodes about 10 times over or more, we share music while we play video games.

It's a little frustrating at times because whenever Stan decides he doesn't like a song he starts to talk over it, even if I'm singing the music. But that's a minor peeve that's always existed. I can't make him like my music.

Hell, if Cartman were here with me he'd just say "What is this garbage?" and then mock the song the whole way through. Keeping that in mind, Stan's approach isn't that bad.

Once it hits four I start getting ready to go back to Cartman's house.

"Should I go with you?" Stan asks.

I shrug. "Do you want to?"

He diverts his eyes and scratches the back of his head. "It seems a little pointless. Buck made a good point. Wasting energy on him when he's like that kinda just feeds his ego."

...He totally believes that Cartman has ulterior motives. ..Hell, he might. I could just be playing into his hand.

But what if we're wrong?

"I'll just go by myself then." I decide, slipping my jacket on.

Stan sighs. "Dude… I'm getting deja vu."

I resist the need to roll my eyes at him. "Yeah well, Deja vu can happen even when you've never been in a specific situation before."

With that I head out the door and step back into the cold, now foggy weather.

I acknowledge that Cartman has repeatedly tricked me into thinking he's the victim throughout our childhoods, and made a total fool of me. But there's also been plenty of times where he genuinely is the victim. And I'm not about to let him be at the mercy of Buck's potential prejudice about him on top of mine.

With that... back to walking down this irritatingly long block.

There's a slight unease I'm carrying with me right now. It really feels like I have to mentally prepare myself to talk to Buck. As if my thoughts have to be incredibly sharp. ...Buck's not a very polite person, but he's not exactly a liar, as far as I know. It's more like… he's intimidating to talk to. He's one of those people who makes you feel like you did something wrong when you disagree with him.

It's tough. I have to make sure I'm not swayed by his domineering aura so much that I just agree with him because it's easier, but I also have to be open to what he says. It's the only way I'll hear all sides of the story.

From there, I have to trust my own judgement. Because at this point I know both sides of the story are going to be different.

I exhale deeply as I notice that Buck's car is indeed here. Good. I want to get this done as soon as possible. I ring the doorbell for the second time today, and once again Liane is the one to answer.

"Good Afternoon Kyle," She chimes. She's still dressed in that nightgown from this morning… I guess it is a Saturday. "My, right on the dot. You're so punctual, sweety."

"Thanks. Can I come in?" I ask, stepping towards the door. Liane then narrows the opening a little.

"Actually, why don't you come back tomorrow? Buck's had a very frustrating day. He wants to relax."

...Is she serious? Did she just suddenly forget that I wanted to talk to them about their _son,_ who is _on the streets?_ How does she not see the urgency of this? Her own son, homeless!

...Okay, calm down. I'm not gonna help the situation by losing my temper. Just clench your fists and release…

"It's important." My tone unfortunately comes out low and slightly threatening.

Liane expression strangely seems to soften. "Kyle, why don't you go for a walk? Clear your head a little?"

She's making this really difficult. "I want, to speak, to Buck."

"Come back when you're not so stressed, dear. Buck deserves a break." Liane says as she starts to shut the door.

No. She's not gonna dismiss me like this again.

I jam my foot into the space between the door. "You know _why_ I'm stressed?" I say, locking eyes with her, "It's because my friend - your _son_ \- has been homeless for a _week._ No food, no money, not even a proper fucking jacket, in the middle of december, and you two act like you don't even know what's going on. And I _know_ you know _something._ He lives in your _goddamn house_ for fuck's sake."

Liane now seems slightly anxious. _Good._ I was getting sick of her ditzy mom facade. "Kyle, please calm down."

" _Cartman is_ _homeless_." I shouldn't have to reiterate that. "I want to know what's going on."

Just as I start to press against the door to make my way in, it suddenly flies open and I stumble through. A six-foot-five Buck is lumbering over me with a very irritated look on his face, and the moment we lock eyes is the moment my stomach clenches up.

His eyes narrow on me. "What did _he_ tell you?"

He… .. I step fully into the house and stand up straight in front of him. "...He told me that you kicked him out."

Buck swings the door shut behind me and gives a look to Liane. I try to get a look at her expression, but before I can, she's already down the hallway towards the kitchen. I jump at the sensation of Buck's large hand pressing against the small of my back. "Fine. Let's clear this up." He says, leading me into the livingroom.

The way his hand is braced against my lower back makes me feel incredibly vulnerable, so I pick up my pace and sit on the couch as quickly as possible. He sits right next to me with a deep sigh.

"So that's all he said, huh?" Buck asks.

"Uh… yeah."

"And you didn't ask him him to elaborate at all?"

...Didn't I…? … "Well, I did… we just kind of got off topic at the time."

"To his convenience."

I shift uncomfortably, in thought. "..Sssso, what's your side of the story?"

Buck leans back against the couch. "First, I have to ask, why isn't he with you right now?" I pause and stare at him. He looks me in the eye and shrugs. "If he was kicked out, wouldn't he be at our doorstep trying to get back in?"

"...He seemed… reluctant to come home." I glance away. ...Why am I so at a loss for words? "And, I wanted to hear your side of the story, unbiased from his."

Buck nods his head. "He literally gave you the answer already, Kyle. The reason he doesn't want to come home is because, well, he doesn't want to come home. That's the whole point of running away." He gives a glance towards the kitchen and frowns slightly. "I just wish you wouldn't have told Liane. Every time that boy abandons her, her heart breaks a little more."

Oh yeah. It must be so hard for her to be here, in her warm house and access to food at any given moment. But I suppose… if Cartman were doing this on purpose I would feel bad for Liane.

...It can't be, though. Every time I try to consider the idea that this is all in Cartman's plan, my mind flashes back to the look of utter shame in his eyes when I tried to give him money for food. I know Cartman's a good liar and a manipulative asshole, but he still _feels_. How can Buck treat him like he's nothing but a menace?

-Stop. I have to be unbiased. I have to be open to both sides of the story.

"So then… why did he run away? I mean, there's gotta be a reason, right?" I ask. I kinda wish he wasn't right beside me like this. It's hard to have a conversation with him when I have to crane my head to the side and sit at a weird angle to even see his face. Ughhh. Fuck my height.

"The same reason he ever runs away, Kyle." Buck answers with a groan. "He doesn't like that I'm here, he hates my rules, he hates that he's not the 'man of the house' anymore. He runs away for a couple of days, comes back and demands changes. This time though… there's a little more to it."

"I made some tea for all of us, boys." Liane announces, stepping into the room with her hands clutched together. "It'll be ready soon."

Buck walks over to her and gives her a peck on the lips. "Thank you, Love. You're the best." His hands grasp hers and he softens his voice. "Don't stress yourself out. Everything will be alright."

That's sweet of him, I guess… They sit down together across from me, Liane holding Buck's hand in her lap.

"How's this time different?" I ask.

Buck gives a glance to Liane, who returns the glance anxiously. "Liane and Eric have a very… co-dependent relationship. Since he was born, Eric's been the only one in Liane's life who acted like he cared about her in some way. If he felt like he needed more, she'd give him more, no matter what that meant giving up. Every time Liane could have treated herself, she treated Eric instead. And if he didn't get what he wanted he'd use their relationship against her. He'd start ignoring her, insult her, or say he didn't love her anymore. But what got to her the most was him running away."

My gaze gravitates to Liane. She notices, and her expression saddens.

"I can't stand the thought of him being out there… all by himself…" She utters, gripping Buck's hand tighter.

"Eric knows which buttons to push." Buck explains. "If I wasn't here, she'd give into him every time. But she's been strong these past few times. I tell her not to give in, and she doesn't. He started wising up to the fact that it's working less and less, and it really started riling him up."

...Does Cartman really treat his Mom like that…? ...It… doesn't seem _that_ unlikely…

"He started getting really out of hand. Started breaking shit to try and get his way, picking fights with me… I put him in the basement after that. Then recently, Liane had enough foresight to tell me about his secret gun collection. Last sunday I cleared it out… and he crossed a line. He lashed out at Liane."

Liane leans into Buck's shoulder with glossy eyes. "I've never seen him like that… he tried to hurt me… His own... ..mommy..."

What...

"It's a good thing you told me when you did. Who knows when he was gonna start waving a gun around." Buck strokes Liane's hand with his thumb. "We really should have called the police, but I know Liane. She'd guilt trip herself so much if her son ended up in jail. So I settled for kicking him out of the house for a few hours. I told him to take a walk and think about what he did. After that, he just… didn't come back."

I can't do anything but stare now. Hell… what do I say to that? I came here to vouch for Cartman, to get him to come back home, but…

Buck lets out a soft chuckle. "Honestly though, I feel relieved that he hasn't come back yet."

"Buck, dear…" Liane says in a half hearted scolding tone. Her expression reads as too dejected to express disapproval.

"It's true, Love. I can actually get some sleep lately." Buck says running a hand through his hair.

...This is all so frustrating…

"Oh, the tea's ready!" Liane chimes at the sound of the teapot screeching in the distance. As she hops up to fetch the tea Buck turns back to me, locking eyes.

"So now that you know the whole story, what do you think of your friend?" He asks.

I stare blankly at him, trying to respond, but can't seem to find appropriate words.

"You have to have known. With all the crazy shit he's famous for? It was only a matter of time before he turned against Liane." He looks off towards the kitchen again, where Liane pours the tea. "Just wish I took even more precautions than I already did with that kid."

...I don't know what to believe. Cartman, hurting his Mom…? That… That doesn't make sense. He's joked about it before, but he's never actually done anything like that…

...Right…?

"Kyle, aren't you going to drink your tea?" Liane asks. I look down at the teacup in front of me, the steam hitting my nose with a bitter scent.

"No thank you," I sigh as I stand up. I don't want to stay here… I need to clear my head.

"If you're going to hang around Cartman again, be careful." Buck calls after me as I wander towards the door. "He might go easy on you most of the time but he's a ticking time bomb."

I say nothing as I exit the house, stepping out into the cold once again. With dazed eyes, I take a look around me to see it's now even foggier out. How appropriate.

I expected Buck to say something so bitter and ugly that I couldn't side with him - that it would be obvious that he only kicked Cartman out because of their step-father step-son feud. Instead… Buck protected Liane, and they told me much more than Cartman did… They both seemed so genuine that I can't imagine they would lie about that…

...Is that why Cartman looked so ashamed…? Because he lashed out at his Mom? Is he just so guilt ridden that he feels like he can't come home…?

…

Okay… that's enough. It's been a long fucking day.

I head back home and spend the rest of the day studying. When I'm not studying I'm lost in the thoughts of what happened between them. No matter whose side I take, I'm taking someone simply at their word.

On Sunday I spend a lot of time reading in my room, then drown my thoughts out with video games. Eventually, guilt gets to me, and I prepare a meal to take to Cartman. He hates it; it's steamed carrots, broccoli and rice.

"You couldn't at least get me some meat?" He asks. "Add salt or something?"

"Beggars can't be choosers." I answer.

We do talk, somewhat, but we're so distant that I don't remember what we say. Small talk. I try to read his body language. He does look ashamed… but I can't tell if it's guilt or shame from being homeless. His energy is definitely low that day… the cold's probably getting to him. But hopefully this food will replenish him.

On Monday, I go through school as normal, but I notice that Cartman isn't in class. I try not to let that distract me as much. With what I know… I don't know if I should allow him to occupy my thoughts.

"What did you do on Sunday? I missed you, dude." Stan asks, his hand wrapped around my shoulders.

I don't really approve of Stan's arm around my shoulder, but at the same time, it is… comforting. I just wish affectionate gestures like this didn't always come with romantic undertones.

"Just making sure I'm all caught up on studying."

"Ha, you should invite me over sometime." Stan chuckles. "You look really handsome when you concentrate."

"U-uhh," Shit, don't stutter you fucking idiot! I feel heat crawling up my face. "Thanks, dude." I smile anxiously.

Stan answers me by kissing me on the cheek.

Jesus- we're in the cafeteria! "Stan, come on- that's PDA." I say. I hate the tone my voice comes out as.

" _That?_ " Stan laughs.

"Ugh…" I cross my arms. "This is just…"

...Be honest. Say Stan, I don't know if I genuinely like you or not.

"Stan… I-"

"There's my two lover-boys!" I hear from behind me. Suddenly a slender manicured hand rests on my shoulder and I turn to see a familiar face.

"L-Lesley," Stan gasps, pulling the arm around my shoulder away from me quickly. I don't know whether to be relieved or extremely put off by that gesture.

Yep, there she is in all her preppy glory. She flashes us a proud smile like we're her children or something. "Oh man, Stan. I wish you'd told me sooner about your little crush on Kyle. It would've made our break up a little easier."

"So you saw the video too, huh," I sigh. Was there anyone who didn't see it?

Lesley turns her attention to me. "What's wrong, Kyle? Aren't you happy about finally getting together?"

"We… didn't exactly want everyone to know." Stan says.

"Why not? It's 2015. About time we had a public gay couple in our school!"

I press my finger against my temple and groan. "It's a personal relationship, not a high school achievement." And it's not even decided yet. Everyone's deciding for us again… Ugh. But it's not like I want to embarrass Stan in front of Lesley. He'd never live it down.

"Wow, it can be both, Mr. Sass master." Lesley retorts. She turns back to Stan. "But I'd like to do an interview on you two sometime. The school paper needs more progressivism in it."

Stan smiles warmly at her. "I'm sure we could do that." He says.

Jesus Christ, this is getting out of hand. "I'm not doing that."

"What's wrong? Have you guys been getting picked on for being gay?"

Ugghh.

"I mean… some of my team has been teasing me a little bit."

When Stan says this, Lesley's eyes light up. "The football team, discriminating against its own people? Details, please, Stan."

This goes on for a little while. Hopefully Stan won't blow up the story and get high off the attention. I tune them out by texting Kenny, noticing he's gone from our usual seat as well. It's not surprising though. Whenever he can he's off spending time with Jenny, whether it's heading over to her side of town or calling her during lunch. I do manage to catch his attention long enough to distract myself from Lesley and Stan.

I really hope people don't start giving me fake attention for being gay. It's so invasive… and if it spreads enough, it'll probably get around to my parents.

But I guess that's the least of my problems right now.

At Dinner time I notice that Mom has made enough stew for me to give to Cartman tonight. As soon as I'm finished I go out, saying I'm going to hang out with Stan. Stan drives me downtown once again and I ask him if he wants to go hang out with Cartman with me.

"No thanks. Seeing Cartman like that is kinda depressing." He says.

Fair enough. I don't know what to think of him myself right now… I mean, who wouldn't have taken the hint that him wanting to have fist fights for fun meant that he was a dangerous person… Fucking hell, I've known that my entire life. Ugh. I might just leave the tupperware next to him and go.

...

It's especially cold tonight… I should still check on him.

It's foggy tonight too, but, I follow the light of the cracked open door behind the Tweek Bros Coffeehouse. That's where Cartman usually sits. As soon as I take a peek around the two dumpsters, I expect Cartman to be sitting there up against the wall. ...But it's an empty spot.

My heart sinks as I whip my head around to look for him. Shit… he's _always_ sitting here. Why would he move? A stinging gust of wind sends snow buffeting onto my face.

Fucking hell… he better be inside.

Just as I'm about to grab the doorknob and head inside, I spot a figure slinking by, cloaked with that big blue comforter. My heart jumps.

"Cartman!" I call out. That sounded a little too obviously happy, but, the more important thing is I found him and he's okay. I hurry up to him and offer him the tupperware.

"Hey, I got you some meat this time, but you should really get inside. I think a snowstorm is coming."

A blunt elbow is shoved into my shoulder, almost making me drop the stew.

"Get lost, kid. I ain't goin' anywhere with ya." A raspy voice says from underneath the blanket.

...What the fuck..? I glance below the blanket and see ratty black jeans covering lanky, thin legs. ...This isn't Cartman at all.

" _Hey_ , where'd you get that blanket?!" My voice booms at the stranger.

He turns to me and I'm met with a bony looking face with bulging, bloodshot eyes, clearly irritated by my tone. "What're ya screamin' about? This is my blanket."

No. I recognize that shade of royal blue even in this foggy snow. "That blanket belongs to my friend," I growl. "Where is he?!"

"Fuck off, kid, unless you're buyin' this blanket off me get your ass home," The man tries to dismiss me.

"I gave that to him! Give it back right now!" I spit as I grab onto the blanket. The stew splashes on the snow. In a swift motion I rip it off his back - the rip being literal. A loud tear is heard when I do.I stumble back a bit, looking down at the shreds in one particular part of the comforter.

Suddenly a sharp sting shoots through my body, and I hear the sound of glass cracking. My knees go weak as I feel shards of glass being forced into my skin. I choke out a gasp. He just.. He just stabbed me with a fucking beer bottle..!

My knees hit the iced over, snowy concrete and I clutch at the bleeding wound in my ribs. "You… you…!"

Fuck… every time I breathe it hurts..!

The man lumbers over me, grabbing both my shoulders and shoving me against the wall. "Don't fuck with me, kid! I didn't steal this blanket from no one! And if you try to tell anyone I did, I'ma kill your ass for being such a liar!" He shrieks, pressing the broken bottle against my jaw.

I desperately claw into his arms, forcing the bottle away from me and shouting in pain. These fucking shards..! Every time I move it's like I'm being sliced into with tiny razors…!

"You're not gettin' away with this! I'm gonna stab ya all over you snotty brat!" His spit sprays my face as he fights back against me, that bottle wavering between us. Jesus Christ… my arms are shaking, I don't know if I can hold out… my vision is starting to blur… I hear the sound of pounding… this shadow is cast on us, like death looming over…

_Crunch!_

My eyes snap open to the sound of the man shrieking. My gaze falls on the arm that was once holding the beer bottle, now twisted and limp at the wrist. Then in the next instant, he's no longer on me. He's flung into the snow, flat on his back.

A large, bulky figure stands over him - .. C..Cartman…

"Fucking crackhead…" Cartman snarls, reaching for his pocket.

I hear a distinct click.

The man is shrieking again, whimpering and trembling profusely.

"No! Don't do it! Please, I'm sorry! I'll give the blanket back free of charge-" The man's screams are muffled by the sound of something being shoved into his mouth.

Cartman is now crouched over him, a heavy silence filling the air.

"Shut up."

A muted gunshot fires off, echoing in the alleyway.

...Oh my god.

I can't do anything but stare as Cartman stands over the now bloodied body of that stranger, my mind completely blank. He just… he just… killed a man…

.. ...To… save me…

Cartman turns around. The moment our eyes meet an intense shiver strikes my body.

"Uh-..." I feel the need to say something, but as soon as the sound comes out of my mouth a sharp pain hits my ribs again. Every breath stings with pain, but I take in gasps of air to try to stop myself from passing out.

Cartman kneels down next to me, gripping my arms and checking the wound. I can't do anything but stare at him. My body is having so many reactions it's confusing…

"Cartman…" I gasp.

"Relax Jew, all your panting's making it worse." He says as his arms come around my back and under my thighs. Shit.. he's lifting me up. He's not helping my lightheadedness…

I clutch at his back and tuck my head under his chin, trying to take in more breath. "I'm… nngh.." It burns…

In that moment, my vision goes white.


	12. Chapter 12

Now everything's black.

Pitch black.

There's a strange sound humming about. Like the sound I hear when I duck my head underwater, and the water comes rushing into my ears. Not a splash, or water flowing; the sound where water fills your ears instantly. That… pop. The pop you hear after the distorted roar of water rushing in and filling your ears. The implication that someone just flipped a switch. And now your hearing's off.

And after that pop, after the switch is flipped, you hear that hum. The hum of still fluid, sitting in your ears. Muted, but very much there.

It's almost not a sound. It's more of a feeling.

And that's the only thing there is.

Just that… feeling.

No noise. No thoughts. No emotions. Just that… silent, drifting… feeling.

It's constant.

"Wake up, Kyle."

Then like that, I'm awake. By the voice's will, I'm pulled back in with alarming speed. My senses, my surroundings, they rush back to me like a vortex that spirals around and smacks me awake.

Right on my face.

I shoot up, my heart leaping with me as I gasp for air.

"Oh… is that okay?"

A hand touches my chest.

"Settle down, young man. You have brand new stitches in."

Stitches...

"Oh, not there. They're on your ribs. They won't be noticeable." A voice chuckles, and I feel a hand on my wrist that lowers it from my face.

My vision clears up. …I'm in a hospital room. My parents… Mom, Dad, and Ike are sitting across from me. Astride from me, from the bed I've been lying in, there's a man dressed in.. ah–, he's a doctor. Of course. And…

Then there's Cartman, hovering over me.

"Ok, ok, I think you've startled him enough, sir." The doctor says as I hear that signature heart monitor beep jolting up for a moment. Cartman purses his lips and steps away.

"You really shouldn't be smacking patients awake like that bro." I hear Ike say to Cartman.

Cartman scoffs. "What, I didn't backhand him or anything."

"Well aside from the smacking, thank you so much for doing what you did, Eric." Mom says. I blink rapidly, looking at her and then at Cartman.

That's right… I got stabbed. And Cartman was there to save me. He twisted the man's arm backwards. He stuck a gun in the man's mouth and shot him at point blank... Like it was nothing.

"...You told them?" I ask, giving an incredulous gaze.

Cartman's eyes narrow slightly, before softening. "I had to call them so you could be rushed to the hospital. So yeah, I told em' that I pulled you away from a murderous psycho who was trying to stab you."

You left out the part where you took it upon yourself to kill a man.

Well, it's not surprising. I doubt my parents would allow Cartman to be in the room if they knew about that particular part of the story.

"I told you, Bubbe! That neighborhood's not safe!" My Mom chides, "What did I say?"

God, my head's all fuzzy and I have to deal with this. "Get in, get what you came for and get out." I groan. I hate when she makes me repeat her words of wisdom.

"That's right! You had no business being out there so late."

"Well, it was really hard to get around in a timely manner. What with the snowstorm."

"That doesn't matter. Not anymore." My dad waves dismissively. "Do you think you feel well enough to go home tonight?"

I frown at my Dad. "I just got here."

"Actually," My Dad whips out his rolex from under his sleeve and looks at the time, and I roll my eyes. He continues, "You've been here for uh, a day and a half if I'm reading my watch correctly."

Once he whipped out his watch like that I knew I'd been here for at least a day. My Dad thinks that 'looking at your watch to inform someone of an amount of time that's immeasurable on a watch,' joke is still funny.

"That's right. You will be able to be discharged, but I'd recommend resting for at least a couple more days." The Doctor says. "The glass shards between your ribs have all been successfully removed. You were lucky you didn't have any internal damage, but you still need to be careful. That kind of stress is a physical and emotional shock, so you need to rest no matter what."

"Right. We're aware of that." My Dad nods. "But my boy would be most comfortable at home. He doesn't like hospitals much."

While it's true that I don't have a particular fondness for hospitals, I know – and everyone in the family knows – that I'm being discharged to avoid extra hospital fees. Staying overnight is just a way for them to sap even more money out of you, to quote my Dad. He has a point, but the rush he gets in to get me up out of the hospital bed comes off as insensitive, for sure.

Regardless, I try to get out of bed and immediately notice that I have a splitting headache. And a bit of soreness in my legs. The doctor informs me that I may have pulled a few things stress.

Great.

My parents take care of the bill and then we're heading out the door. I'm not really happy that I have to deal with a killer headache while walking on shaky legs with pulled muscles. It feels like I'm walking on a constant charlie horse. But I've got other things to complain about.

Like how fucking surreal that… 'dream' was…? Or… how surreal the world is now. Every now and then I notice that somehow the world's… more detailed. Hyper realistic.

Which is weird to say. Because the real world is the epitome of realistic.

Every now and then I stop and think, 'I didn't always have a name,' and weird, stoner things like that. Just popping into my head.

"So… how'd you end up getting saved by the local nazi?" My Dad asks, jabbing a thumb in Cartman's direction as we walk through the parking lot.

"Gerald," Mom grunts annoyedly.

"No but really, don't you guys hate each other?" Dad asks, turning to Cartman, who, I now notice, has been silently looking at me this whole time. When he notices me looking back, his eyes dart to my dad.

"Where've you been, pops?" Cartman asks with a raised eyebrow.

My Dad kinda shrugs, looking thrown off by Cartman's confidence. "So what, that K word story was a lie or what?" He asks turning to my my Mom.

Always gossiping. He and Mom were made for each other.

"Uhm, let's not talk about that right now." Mom says.

"I mean your son was nearly killed and I saved his ass." Cartman smiles confidently. "If anything, he owes me a K word or two."

"Do I?" I say, meeting his eyes.

Cartman's smile widens to that classic smirk. "I can bargain for something else."

I huff. "I'd punch you but I don't wanna find out about some other pulled muscle in my arm."

Cartman snickers.

"And you wouldn't because you're a good boy," Mom adds. Jesus fuck.

Cartman nudges me. "That true? Are you a good boy?"

"Can you die?" I ask.

"Whoa," Ike laughs.

"Alright boys. That's enough messing around. Get in the car." My dad announces in annoyance, unlocking our van. Ike and I step in, Cartman trailing behind me. It's a big van so we actually all do fit in the backseat, although with Cartman's fat fucking ass, it's a tight squeeze. Before he's about to close the door, Dad gives another look to Cartman. "Hey uh, we appreciate you staying overnight with us, Eric. I uh… don't remember your new address though."

Cartman's face goes blank. "Uhhhh, shit. I don't really either."

"…Huh. That's weird." My Dad says, regarding Cartman strangely. "I guess you can just walk from our house?"

My fists clench up again, and my heart sinks as I can see the enjoyment drain from Cartman's face. Even though the smile's still there. Even though he nods at my Dad, and opens his mouth to tell him a lie. I can tell.

When he leaves our house, he's not going home.

He's going right back to those god damn alleys.

"He's homeless."

I see Cartman's shoulders visibly stiffen as I say this. Other than that he doesn't move, except for his eyes, which gravitate to me.

"He's the homeless friend I told you about. He got kicked out and he's the reason I was out there. I was feeding him. I didn't want him to starve. Nobody's helping him and if you leave him out there he's just gonna die to a mugger the way I almost did."

My lips move so fast that my Dad doesn't even know what expression to hold.

The silence that sits in my family van is uncomfortable. Everyone has unreadable expressions on their face and they're all looking at me. I turn to Mom.

"We have to take him in. We have to." I assert again, more firmly this time. "He saved my life."

Mom glances at me and then looks away in thought. "Well… that's true.."

"Oh come on Sheila, where's he even gonna stay?" My Dad protests indignantly. His reluctance is a lot more apparent when he jerks the key in the ignition and pulls out of the driveway.

"Don't we have a guest room, Dad?" Ike asks.

"Pffuh, I mean, technically." Dad scoffs. "It's full of clutter."

"So we'll clean it out." I say.

"Do you KNOW how much is in there, Kyle?"

"It's no problem you guys." Cartman cuts in. "You don't have to go through all that."

I glare at him. "You can't stay out there."

"You didn't even ask if I wanted to bunk with your sorry ass." He says, narrowing his eyes on me.

"That's because I'm not asking." I say.

There's a brief silence between Cartman and I, eyes locked, until Dad interrupts.

"See? He doesn't even want to stay."

"Gerald, don't be rude!" Mom shoots him a glare. "The least we could do is temporarily give him a roof over his head."

"I'll clean out the guest room myself if I have to." I offer, albeit aggressively.

The entire time I can feel that heavy, disgruntled scowl on me from Cartman. Fucking Fatass. Why is he so beyond reasoning? He should be happy to be out of the freezing cold. I mean shit, why else did he stay in the hospital overnight? He had to have seen the benefit in staying there, especially during the snowstorm. So why has he defaulted to acting like he doesn't need anyone, right after he got robbed and almost saw me get killed?

"Okay, fine. I guess we can house him for a little bit," Dad finally concedes. Thank god. I was about to question whether or not my own father had a conscience.

There's a long silence in the car. A few times me and Ike exchange glances and I keep checking to make sure my parents don't go back on my wishes. Stingy as they may be, they do have a generous streak every once in awhile. And, though in most scenarios silence would be very uncomfortable, it actually makes me more comforted by the second. Because they haven't said anything, which means Cartman is in fact coming home with us.

It's funny; that statement would usually mildly annoy me. Cartman, staying over for more than a couple of days? I'd be so pissed. But in this situation where he has nowhere else to go, and when he has such a concerning mentality… there's nowhere else I want him to stay.

We pull up to the driveway and my Dad is the first one to get out of the car. He really hams up how begrudgingly chivalrous he is, holding the door open for all of us as we walk in. Cartman is naturally the last one to enter the house, before Dad, and as he closes the door, he touches Cartman's shoulder.

"Just, don't eat everything in the fridge."

"Gerald!"

"What? He eats more than a normal person– that's just a fact!" He says, gesturing to Cartman's entire body.

Huh… Cartman's taller than my Dad. Jesus. Last time I checked, he was what, a little taller than me, and I'm 5'7''. Dad's 6'0''. Cartman was tall before, maybe like, 5'10'', 5'11'' but now he's OVER 6 feet.

You'd think that'd slow down with him being deprived of nutrients and all.

"Seriously, Mr. Broflovski," I hear Cartman say as I regain track of the conversation. "Jew food is fucking gross. I'm not gonna raid your fridge for hamantash."

"It's pretty insensitive to ask someone who was just homeless not to eat that much." Ike cuts in and I briefly wonder if he intentionally said that to stop Dad from reprimanding Cartman's antisemitism. The guilt offsets the insult, completely.

Cartman doesn't hesitate to shoot a glare right at me, though. He really doesn't like being referred to as homeless, even though it's true.

I roll my eyes. "I'll start on the guest room." I announce and start towards the hallway, when Mom abruptly grabs my arm.

"It's already eleven, bubbe. You should go to bed. Gerald will clean out the guest room."

"Uh, I'm gonna need help to clean it out." Dad protests. "Nothing's set up and my entertainment system's in there."

Dad's fancy way of saying a big block of wood to hold his video games and TV.

Mom glances back at Cartman, who's mostly just been silent. "Eric, would you be okay with sleeping on the couch tonight?"

Dad protests with an exaggerated scoff. "No, no no. He's not gonna sleep on the couch, the guys are coming over tomorrow." His eyes gravitate to me, and he points a finger. "Kyle, this was your idea. He's gonna sleep in your room."

My immediate reaction is a frown.

"Just until Gerald can get the guest room ready, bubbe." Mom assures me.

"Yeah. But for tonight you made your bed, now Eric has to lay in it." Dad says with a smirk.

"Wow. Bravo." Fuck him, that was such a bad joke.

"Well, it's been a long day boys. You all should get to bed." Mom says.

With that we all part from the living room, Cartman still trailing behind me and Ike as we go up the stairs. Kinda not looking forward to sharing a room with Cartman while he's glaring daggers every chance he can get. But at least this way I can keep an eye on him.

I open the door for him and gesture for him to walk into the room first.

"Wow, this house has  _two_  doormen in it." He deadpans as he walks through.

I close the door behind us, trying to keep my voice down. "You can be as mad at me as you want. I'm the reason you have a roof over your head tonight."

"You're the reason I'm a charity case tonight." He grunts. As I unpack my backpack, he simply leans against the door.

"Dude, stop it. Just unpack your bag."

His eyes read as more and more irritated by the second. "I can't. The crackhead sold everything I had except that blanket."

… "..Oh… uh… my bad."

I silently empty my bag out and hang it up on the wall, before looking at him. …I'd change into my pajamas, but…

We've seen each other naked, back when we were kids, but we're not ten anymore and that has piles of awkward on it. Especially considering he kissed me and all.

Fuck. I hate that little fact. Cartman kissed me. He kissed me out of nowhere and we're not talking about it because he's just gonna lie to me and I'm gonna stand there being an embarrassed idiot. And I'm not about to give him the satisfaction of trying to pry that kind of info out of him. It would be such an ego stroke.

Shit. I'm sweating. I was quiet for too long just staring right at him like a dumbfounded idiot.

"What?" He asks.

"Uh… y-your… your hair's clean." God dammit. Why do I always stammer.

Cartman takes this as a cue to run his hand through his hair. "Yeah. I convinced the hospital to get me cleaned up since I saved your life and all."

"Ha… I should've figured that'd be your top priority." I smile.

"Damn right it was." He says. "Being filthy is disgusting."

"Well, that's just redundant."

The moment I notice he's cracked a smile at me, albeit poutily, I smile even wider. Despite my nerves, there's a strong, comfortable silence that happens between us. An intense warmth fills my chest, just being able to know that both of us are safe. It's like for once in a long time, we can both just take a breath. I wonder if he feels that way too.

"Jesus it's seriously 11? The fuck." Cartman says, giving a glance to my alarm clock. He grumbles and starts to undo the buckle on his pants.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" I say hastily with a half raised hand. "You don't have pajamas."

Cartman laughs. "I'm just unbuckling my belt. I'm not sleeping with that shit on. Never again." He sprawls out onto my bed, crossing a leg over and putting his arms behind his head in an incredibly lax position.

…

Did he just decide he's sleeping in my bed?

"I mean, you ever fall asleep with a belt on Kahl?" He goes on. "It's hell on your dick in the morning."

… Anyway… "Dude. Where am I gonna sleep?"

Cartman raises an eyebrow. "Gerald said I could use your bed."

"That was just a stupid analogy he was making." I scoff.

He shrugs. "Hey. If you're gonna make me a charity case anyway, the least you can do is donate your bed."

My arms drop limp at my sides. Well, it's true. I invited him into my house. Or rather, dragged him in. How hospitable would I be if I made him sleep on the floor?

Alright.

Do your best to not make it weird. He's not sleeping on the floor and I'm not sleeping on the floor.

I give a reluctant huff as I flop down in my bed next to him, staring at the ceiling with my arms crossed. The space next to him is so cramped that I'm wedged up against him. But it certainly doesn't help that this is a memory foam mattress. On top of Cartman taking up a majority of the bed, he's also sunken in the mattress. I'm practically magnetized to him.

"Wow. You literally have a gravitational pull." I sigh again, still staring at the ceiling. "You'd think being homeless for so long would make you drop some of the weight."

Ha… listen to me.

I act like it's a big embarrassing thing for him to be in this situation, but I can feel how flushed my face is, being up against him like this. I feel my heart beating hard in my chest, the suggestion of goosebumps breezes over my skin and I'm fighting breathlessness.

God, what's wrong with me…?

It's… it's not legitimate. He's giving off this air of dominance because he's taking up so much space. But he's just fat. And tall. And broad shouldered. …He's not doing it intentionally. My stupid body is just falling for that illusion.

Yeah. That's it. That's what's going on… my hormones are fucking with my head.

I just hope Cartman doesn't notice how weirdly I'm reacting. Chances are he has… he's been quiet for a little while now.

I glance up over my head, because of course I'm directly under his arm and practically nuzzled against his chest since there's no more room on the bed.

…Huh. He's asleep.

…How could I forget…? No one in their right mind gets good sleep in the cold, in an alleyway. And the night he spent on the hospital, he probably spent trying to keep my parents calm. Poor guy. He must be so sleep deprived.

I take a deep sigh.

… We could have died back there.

My parents didn't seem to make a big deal about it. Probably to not stress me out. But just last night I was out there, pinned to a brick wall with a jagged beer bottle inches away from my throat. The mere thought still makes my heart race.

My heart suddenly does a double jump and I tense up completely, as I settle more into the bed and feel something hard.

In Cartman's pocket.

I leap out of bed, my heart racing and my breath quickened as I look over Cartman's jeans. That lining in his pocket…

The gun.

It's.

He literally just HAS it in his pocket.

What the fuck..!

Okay… okay, calm down. It's just a gun. I've been around guns my entire life. They're not dangerous on a sleeping person.

I rake my hands through my hair and take a deep breath.

I'm not sleeping with a gun against my thigh. He shouldn't even have that right now.

Thankfully my mini panic attack didn't wake Cartman up. He's still fast asleep and completely oblivious to my awareness of his gun. I step slowly back towards the bed and sit on the edge of the bed on my knees, hovering over Cartman. Carefully, I slip my hand into the pocket of his jeans. Of course, it's one of those deep pockets so I have to squeeze my hand into the tight space, sliding my hand against the rough fabric the entire time. I try to go slowly, discreetly, making sure none of my movements are sudden.

Cartman stirs a bit in his sleep. Of course he shoved the gun all the way down in the base of this god damn pocket. I don't even know how he wedged it in there, this pocket's so damn tight… when my hand can reach I carefully grip the gun and pull it up.

I get the feeling that Cartman will wake up from the feeling of the entire gun being slid against his thigh. He kinda strikes me as the type of crazy gun hick that would jolt up the minute someone touched one of his guns. And with what Buck said about Cartman's gun collection… I can only hope Cartman has very good reasons for that.

Buck said that he lashed out at Liane for having his gun collection taken away. That he hit her. I really don't want to think that's the case with him, but if it is and he lashes out at me it won't be the same situation with Liane. I'm a young man, not some small middle aged woman. I can fight him if it comes to that.

The gun is now fully out of the pocket and resting in my hands. I feel the weight of it and let my gaze rest on it.

I know why he has this.

I know it was used to protect him when he had no house to protect him.

I know that, even though it was overkill at the end of the day, this same gun was used to protect me.

My gaze goes to Cartman, who's still peacefully sleeping. I don't know why but even with everything I know, I don't see Cartman using this gun against me or anyone he cares about. He just… he just doesn't act like that right now.

But then... ...why is he homeless? How is it that even though they took his gun collection away, he was able to hold onto this one? If he really is the person I think he is, how does the current situation even add up in the first place?

I graze my thumb over the smooth metal of the gun. I feel like I still don't know anything about this situation. So the best option right now is to stay cautious. No matter who I'm talking to.

I stand back up with the gun in my hand and head over to my bookshelf. The 26th book on the fifth shelf is a 'Dictionary.' Part of it's a dictionary, part of it's a safe. I open up the compartment and rearrange the money I saved up in there. Currently it's 800 dollars in 20s so I'm able to stack it up decently and just place the gun on top of it. Cartman would never touch a dictionary in his life, so he'd never stumble upon this hiding spot.

With a deep sigh I unroll my blanket, toss one of the ends over Cartman's torso and settle back into bed. Hopefully I'll be able to get a wink of sleep tonight in spite of the whole near death experience thing.

But surprisingly, it's not that hard to start drifting to sleep. Cartman's body is soft and radiates warmth. It's like sleeping next to a giant electric blanket. And after what happened, it definitely helps to not sleep alone…

When I get to sleep, my dreams are muted. There's some minor, lingering stress in them, but it's mostly fuzzy and hard to make sense of.

By the time I wake up I can only remember the abstract concept of it. Struggling in the snow, carrying something heavy and worrying about something. Something like that.

I wake to the sound of noisy birds at my window. I feel heavy eyed, but in a good way. A soothing feeling is all over my body, and the sound of birds as opposed to heart monitor beeps is incredibly refreshing. I start to stretch, lifting my arms.

…Actually I can't do that. I glance down and see Cartman's thick arm weighing on my arms and torso. His other arm is draped around my shoulder and neck. Well. 'Draped' is a generous word. He's holding me in place.

Jesus, Cartman. Any tighter and this would be uncomfortable… – not that it isn't already.

My alarm clock reads 6:00. I can't stay trapped in this hug all day. I have to get up and eat breakfast and start my morning routine. Slowly I start to wriggle from Cartman's grasp, trying not to wake him up, but instead he pulls me right up against him, so now we're torso to torso and my face is sidled against his chest. What the hell… did he wake up? Is this what he considers a joke? …A few seconds pass. His heartbeat thumps right against my ear, slow and steady. Weird… I don't expect people to pull that hard when they're sleeping.

I wait a few more moments to try moving again, this time even slower. I scoot myself vertically downwards, trying to slowly shift my legs in a way that'll eventually prop me up. My leg grazes against the front of his jeans and I feel a distinct firmness.

Oh–…

Cartman shifts around and quietly stirs.

Ugh… why is it even surprising me? It's fucking morning wood.

Still, heat can't help but wash over my face. I have it too… it's currently pressing up against Cartman's belly. You know. Because he's holding me against him. Jesus Christ, this is so goddamn embarrassing… He's so warm and he's holding me so tightly. I can't help but be stimulated by this… this fucking asshole…

I could wake him up. Maybe just shout him awake… but at this point if I did that he'd probably just throw me off the bed in alarm. If I wake him up by just nudging him and talking it'd be really fucking awkward… if he notices what I notice.. And knowing him he definitely will. So instead I forcefully turn my body to the side. I pry myself from being against his chest by pressing my foot against his leg and reach out my other foot to try to ground it.

Suddenly I stumble over, unable to catch myself as I fall off the bed and onto the floor. A blunt, achey pain envelops my arm from the fall and I hiss slightly.

"The hell you doin, Kahl?" Cartman says groggily.

"Me? What are you doing just letting go all of a sudden?!" I say.

He laughs, "You were tryna get up."

"Yeah well, I had it." I stand up and rub the arm I landed on. Dear god, I hope he woke up just now and he wasn't fake sleeping. The last thing I want on Cartman's mind is the fact that my dick was against him.

I grumble and look at the alarm clock, trying to play off the awkwardness I'm feeling.

"Nice wood Kahl."

This fucking–

I cover my erection and briskly head towards the hallway. "Go fuck yourself," I grunt as I close the door. My face fumes with the heat of embarrassment as I take a slow breath. This better not be every morning with him in my bed. I swear to god.

I guess I didn't account for the fact that when weird things happen between us, I can't just take refuge in my room now that he sleeps in there. I turn back and stare at the door.

He's awfully quiet…

I wonder what he's thinking about…

…I have to go back in soon. I have to get dressed for school…

"What are you doing out here?" I hear Ike's voice behind me, and I whirl back around.

"Oh uh–… Cartman's just being a pain in the ass." I answer, tugging my pajama shirt over my aforementioned wood.

Ike looks me up and down, giving me a knowing and concerned look.

"Shut up." I say.

"Anyway… Dad wanted me to tell you you're staying home the rest of the week. Gotta let those stitches heal." Ike tells me. "Your AP classes are gonna send you assignments."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

Oh. Right. I have stitches… … I probably shouldn't try to flail out of bed like that. Even if a situation like that comes up.

"Do I get the week off too?" Cartman asks, peeking out from the door.

I look over and roll my eyes. It's a little awkward to make eye contact with him but I'm not gonna make a big deal about it. "Why would you get a week off? You're fine."

"Uh, as a reward for saving your ass?" He says, taking a step into the hall.

Ike snickers. "Mom's gonna take you out to buy clothes. Does that count?"

Cartman steps fully out of the room and shrugs. "Eh. I mean she could just give me the money and let me buy them. Shopping with women is annoying."

"Don't bite the hand that feeds, idiot." I say with a nudge of my elbow.

"Gotta say, it's cool to have you here, Cartman-brah." Ike gestures playfully to Cartman with finger guns.

Cartman's eyes dull and he quirks an eyebrow at him. "You still remember that, huh?"

"I still watch it." Ike smiles. "It's funny."

"You still have that channel up?" I say turning to Cartman.

He shrugs. "It's out of principle. I'm a no regrets kind of guy."

"…You really shouldn't be."

"No seriously though. This'll be fun." Ike says, redirecting the subject. "You'll be like my older brother."

Ugh. Seriously Ike? "Who am I then?" I ask.

Ike laughs. "No like, my slightly older than Kyle brother."

Cartman smirks.

"Ike," I say, "I'm older than Cartman by a little more than a month."

Ike looks between Cartman and Me. He points a thumb at Cartman. "This big guy's younger than you?"

Cartman snorts. "Damn, Ike. Go easy on Kahl. He doesn't have any tall genes in him."

"I don't have any fat genes either."

Cartman looks me up and down. "You sure about that?"

I turn around fully, facing him. "You're calling me fat?"

His eyebrow quirks again and I can see him fighting a smile. "Don't worry, Princess. You're not fat." He looks me up and down. "Just one area of you is."

"Oooohh," Ike gives that classic, immature instigator hoot. But I don't think he understands the undertone to that statement.

Hopefully he doesn't. It'd be really fucking weird if my little 11 year old brother responded to jokes about my – ugh… my ass.

Still, I didn't think Cartman would point it out. He never has. But… maybe that was just for the sake of being closeted. Now that things are out on the table, since he kissed me and everything… is he just gonna start pointing that out more often?

It's so fucking weird to hear that from a guy. I don't usually blush, but… just that new, uh, scenario makes the threat of heat tickle my cheeks.

I turn aside from Cartman dismissively. "I hope you're not expecting a fight, Ike."

Cartman shakes his head. "Nah. I wouldn't embarrass you in front of your little brother like that."

"OOOOOH!" Ike hoots again. Jesus Christ, Cartman. Why are you egging this kid on.

"If I wasn't fresh out of the hospital I'd beat your ass," I tell Cartman, squaring up to him slightly.

"Name the time and place." Cartman flashes a wide grin.

…That's not an empty statement, huh? He still wants to fight me.

Jesus. The ride never ends.

The sound of the doorbell ringing catches my attention. Mom quickly heads to the door and finds Stan and Kenny in the doorway. She gives them the typical greeting but even from the staircase I can see Stan's eyes frantically searching. Finally, he spots me.

"Kyle!" Stan bolts up the stairs with Kenny in tow, and throws his arms around me.

"Whoa, hey– easy there Stan," I stammer, "I'm still healing."

Stan pulls away but keeps his hands on my shoulders, gripping them tightly. It kind of hurts since I'm still sore. "I should've went with you. If I was with you that bastard would've never even touched you." The look in his eyes reads as borderline desperation. Not that I blame him… he must have been worried sick, not seeing me for a whole day after something like that.

I hear Cartman click his tongue behind me. "Captain Hindsight to the rescue."

I open my mouth to defend Stan, but Kenny walks past me right up to Cartman, hands shoved in his pockets and a pouty look on his face. "Not that it matters now but out of all places to hide out, why a crack dealer's coffee shop?" He asks.

Cartman rolls his eyes. "It wasn't my first choice. Tweek gave me free food. Donuts and shit."

Now that it's in the past, I laugh. "I bet you didn't lose a pound."

"Fuck off, Jew."

"All I'm saying is you should've come over. Downtown's way worse than my house." Kenny says.

"I wouldn't be caught dead in your stank ass house."

Ike has quickly lost interest and has gone back into his room to get ready for the day. I turn to Stan and ask, "You got Kenny caught up on Cartman's situation?"

"I already knew." Kenny answers for Stan. "Cartman calls me for everything. He uses me like a diary."

In the corner of my eye I see Cartman's shoulders tighten. I look back at Kenny. "Everything?"

"Oh yeah, Kenny, don't tell Kahl anything. He's been a real nosy jew." Cartman cuts in. Kenny looks blankly at me, pausing for a few moments.

"I mean he's probably just worried." He shrugs looking back at Cartman.

"That's just another word for nosy." Cartman waves him off.

Hm.

"Dude. Kyle's worried about you. Stop being so ungrateful." Stan says.

"Yeah, I'd be homeless for a week if it meant I could sleep in this house." Kenny jabbed Cartman with an elbow.

"Hey it's not like I could just do that on a whim," I cut in. "My parents are pretty much only letting him stay because he saved my life."

God it feels weird to say that.

Cartman clicked his tongue. "Don't think I ever got a 'thank you' for that."

I shoot a glare at him. "This is my thank you, idiot." I gesture with my arms to my house, which he currently is allowed to stay in.

Cartman smirks at me and stretches his arms over his head, resting his hands on the back of his neck. "I still wanna hear you say it."

"Suck my balls."

"Just ignore him, Kyle." Stan says placing a hand on my shoulder. "I'm just glad someone was there to save you, even if it had to be him."

I sigh and shrug. Stan loves reiterating that he would've saved me. Though, something I'm strangely grateful for is Cartman's lack of hesitation when it came to that situation. Since he is the person he is, he didn't have any problem attacking another person like Stan most likely would. Unfortunately that lack of hesitation also comes with lack of mercy.

I can still hear the sound of that muted gunshot in that man's mouth. It's so distinct… so… bone-chilling.

"God, it's been years since we had to deal with danger like that." Stan says, pulling me into another hug. "I'm so sorry you had to deal with it alone."

From over my shoulder I see Cartman cross his arms. "Alone huh?"

Stan sighs. "Cartman, I'm sorry you were homeless, and I'm also glad you saved him, but honestly if you weren't so bad at picking a spot to camp out this wouldn't even have happened."

"Oh wow. Guess I'm just an amateur at being homeless."

"You were downtown on purpose because you didn't wanna stay somewhere one of our friends might see you." Stan says, pulling away from me and facing Cartman. "You said that yourself. Your pride is the reason Kyle almost died."

"If you wanna play the blame game, Kahl almost died because he wandered into an alleyway during a snowstorm and tried to take a blanket from a crackhead." Cartman says.

Stan squares up to Cartman. "Yeah, because he was worried about YOU and your stupid decisions." He's not quite in his face yet, but he's getting there.

"Oh yeah. You know just because you wouldn't be able to handle the decisions I make doesn't mean they were stupid for me, right? I'm streetsmart. I know what I'm doing." He shoots back.

"That's why you got robbed by a crackhead, right?" I quip.

"There wasn't a single shard of glass in me." He shoots back.

Touche.

Stan scowls. "Shut up, Cartman! He got that blanket for you! He didn't want you to freeze!"

"Hey, I'm not the one pointing fingers, Stan!" Cartman says jabbing a finger at Stan.

Stan opens his arms up, gesturing to Cartman's finger. "Oh you're not? What's that?"

Cartman prods Stan's chest with his finger. "That's the person downplaying the fact that I saved his boyfriend's life!"

"That," Stan points back, now in Cartman's face. "Is the shitbag trying to act like a hero when he almost got Kyle killed to begin with!"

"Hey!" My Dad shouts from downstairs. "Stop yelling and go to school! I'm trying to read down here!"

Everyone goes silent, albeit begrudgingly.

Stan and Cartman are still in each other's faces. They stare each other down for a few seconds before Stan turns away and pulls a folder out of his bag.

"Here's your homework from yesterday, Kyle." He says gently.

"Thanks." I take it and tuck it under my arm. "…You know you don't have to dwell on the fact that you weren't there, Stan. It's done with."

Stan looks apologetically at me. "Yeah well... I know better now. From now on I'm with you wherever you go." He turns pink saying that as a subtle smile grows on his face.

I'm actually surprised Cartman's silent. I'd expect him to just shout "Gay!" right about now, but he doesn't. …That kind of concerns me. But I just keep looking at Stan. He fidgets a little and glances at the door.

"Oh and hey," He says, "I'll try to see if they'll let me deliver your AP work for you."

"Thanks dude," I smile.

Stan returns the smile and turns away. "See you at the bus stop Kenny," He says, heading down the stairs. Kenny silently follows suit.

When they're both gone Cartman gives me a nudge. "Your boyfriend doubles as a delivery boy, huh?"

"He's not my boyfriend." I repeat. "How many times do I have to say that?"

Cartman raises his arms to shrug more dramatically than usual. "I mean it's kinda weird that Stan didn't even try to deny it."

"Dude you always called us boyfriends. He just doesn't humor you anymore."

"Mm. The school calls you boyfriends too now. You just gonna let that 'rumor' sit there?"

Jesus Christ. I mean I know Stan's up front about it but all anyone has to do is ignore it. "It's none of your business anyway," I tell him, shoving past him to open my room.

"It is if I have to clear out so you guys can fuck in there," Cartman calls after me.

"Don't you have school to get ready for?"

Cartman scoffs. "Nah. Stan's just gonna ride my dick for details. I'll just take your mom up on that shopping offer."

"You'll regret it afterwards." I say, sitting back down in my bed. I open up the folder with my homework in it and start looking it over. On the other side of the door there's silence.

…

…

Wow. Guess he really wanted to get right to the shopping.

Well that's fine.

My mom will probably be happy having something to do other than candy crush and bookclub. I start jotting down notes and formulas as I work through the homework. Living with Cartman, huh…? That sounds like the premise of a sitcom. Kind of like Full House. Except they're not related and have to share a bed. And Jesse doesn't know the meaning of personal fucking space.

I wonder how long they'll let him stay.

If it was up to my mom he'd probably be allowed to stay a month. If it was up to my dad, a week. But honestly I shouldn't be hoping he can stay longer. I should be focusing on getting his problem resolved.

I mean, I don't know. I'm kind of curious about… how he is. Now. To be honest, it feels like I don't really know a lot about his life now-a-days. Ever since Buck moved into his life, he's kinda… closed off. To me at least.

My writing hand stills against the paper.

Kenny.

I can text Kenny whenever I want and Cartman can't do shit about it. Especially right now… Cartman's out with Mom. I glance over the packet. Now it's a 3rd of the way finished. I could finish it and then text Kenny, but this is a thick packet. If by the time I finish Cartman's back with Mom then I won't be able to text him. I mean – knowing how Mom shops, that won't really be a problem but…

Agh, screw it. I have to admit it. I'm itching to know what Cartman's been up to. And all I have to do to figure that out is text Kenny. I snatch my cellphone off the nightstand.

_'Hey Kenny. I know Cartman said not to tell me anything, but I have so many questions.'_

Kenny's generally rough around the edges, but when it comes down to it he's a good guy. I'm sure he'll know I have good intentions.

He texts me back, playing dumb at first. It throws me off guard, but I remember that in person he had a very knowing look on his face. It's just to deter me. To encourage him that I'm trustworthy I tell him what I already know about the situation. Details that are important to me and little things I've noticed.

**'idk dude. ppl trust me to keep secrets cuz i actually keep them.'**

_'Our positions are different, Kenny. If the knowledge that you have is proof that Cartman's being wronged, I know the laws Cartman can use to his advantage. You gotta understand it's for the greater good.'_

There's a bit of a long pause as I wait for his response.

**'u gotta b discreet if i tell u.'**

_'Obviously.'_

**'im srs. ur pretty bad at discreet. like act like u dont kno u kno?'**

He's really bent on his whole credibility thing. But it seems like he's willing to help me. I'm about to type back to him when I get a text from Stan.

**'Hey Kyle… how are you feeling? Like, mentally? I know you like to act like you're okay, but… you went through a lot this week. I just need to know you're actually okay. And if you're not, you can open up to me.'**

Shit. Well I can't just leave this one hanging.

I type Stan a response first. It takes me a few retries, but I get it out.

_'I feel okay. I mean, I do in the sense that I know I can function in day to day life. Honestly, yeah, I feel a change in me. I just don't know if it's good or bad yet. And it sort of goes in and out. Like to the back of my mind, and then distractingly to the front. But no matter what it's always there._

_I don't know how else to describe it.'_

I really don't.

Some of these thoughts, it feels like I'm looking off the edge of my sanity, staring into the unknown abyss. It's kind of a new feeling, but at the same time… strangely familiar.

…

Okay. Back to Kenny.

I text him that I understand what he means. Hopefully this will lead to me getting some info about what's going on. I eagerly wait for my answer. Stan continues to text me, giving me comfort for my odd feelings about this experience. Saying he'll be there for me and all that. It is nice to have someone so willing to be there for me even if they don't actually know if I need it in that moment. I check Kenny's messages again.

Nothing. He's not even typing.

I go back to my homework. I get another third of my packet done and glance at my phone again.

Still no notifications.

God dammit. He's probably being distracted by school. Okay. Whatever. If he texts me he texts me.

I continue my work, like I'm supposed to be doing anyway. And surprisingly, I'm actually able to focus a little.

Man. I've been so caught up in all this Cartman drama that I barely remember what my quizzes for the past two weeks even look like. My grades are probably suffering big time.

I mean, it's not like this is all minor drama. It's way more pressing than calculus, so, of course I'm gonna be distracted by it. As much as I care about my education, I'm not gonna pretend than I value it over my friends, even if it is Cartman we're talking about.

Besides that, there's also my social life distracting me. I may be a nerd, but I'm not the kind of nerd that becomes a hermit and stops talking to their friends because they're so obsessed with schoolwork. Even though that's what most people at school think of me. According to them, I'm the least interesting person in the world. Yet they all still manage to talk about me. Honestly that's probably because I'm best friends with Stan. Being a football player's besty seems to create a lot of jealousy. Man, could this town be any more stereotypical?

Ugh. But after that locker room "incident," they definitely have something to talk about. I mean it's not actual ammo, but hell if they're not gonna pretend it is. Just so they can stop being bored with their basic fucking existences and get under my skin for the hell of it. And they call  _me_  a loser.

God. I'm not looking forward to going back to school in a few days. The gay comments are gonna come back tenfold now that that video's up on YouTube.

…

I pull out my phone and open the YouTube app. They're probably shit talking right on the video. It's still on SPHViral's featured videos list.

'Congratulations.' Right. Thanks, person who goes out of their way to film people without their consent.

I really shouldn't be indulging this kind of curiousity, but what the hell. I'm already here. I scroll through some of the comments.

Thank god some of these users have the decency to consider this video disgusting. Who the hell even does this?

Pfft.. a commenter below thinks they're talking about me and Stan making out being the disgusting thing. Even though they're clearly talking about the action of filming someone's private interactions being morally reprehensible. …At least, that's what it seems like.

I mean… that'd be the logical thing to say, right?

Another user says:  **'Knew that nerd was gay but Stan needs to raise his standards damn'**

Wow.

**'He's just in it for the ass LOL'**

Ugh. Of course there's an ass comment.

**'All Stan needs is a paper bag and he's all set'**

…

**'Whoever posted this is fucked up. What if they weren't ready to come out?'**

Okay. I found a shred of decency. I really don't like that it's only one comment so far though. I continue scrolling through.

…Jesus. There are so many people just talking about my ass. What is wrong with people? Why doesn't anyone care that two students minding their own business just had their privacy jeopardized?

_'This comment section is embarrassing. You have footage of people being filmed in a locker room and all you guys can think about is superficial garbage. Would it kill you to stop thinking about sex for once and consider how those two must feel? The fact that concern for their privacy was nobody's immediate priority is downright depressing.'_

I hit send.

It's fucked up that I'm the one that has to do this. Nobody else even gives a shit. All they say is "EW GAYS" or "LOOK AT HIS ASS!" I fucking hate highschool. Immediately I get a reply notification.

**'Lol is that Kyle? Nice ass Kyle'**

My username doesn't even suggest that I might be Kyle. I'm not so stupid as to put that out on the internet.

Someone else comments,  **'don't be an sjw. Its a public place so that means anyone can be filmed.'**

This fucking idiot!  _'A locker room is not a public place you retard.'_  I type back.

**'I mean it is if nerds can get into the football locker room. These two defiantly fucked in there.'**

Ugh… All these damn assumptions…  _'Because you saw them kiss for two seconds?'_  I type.

**'y u so mad? lol stop babying them. their grown men'**

I hate this town. I hate this stupid town. I hate all of the idiotic hillbillies inhabiting it with their barebones brains and overactive libidos. All they can do is sit around and think about sex while injustice stares them in the face. I really need to stop being surprised whenever these people continuously prove to me that they don't have a shred of empathy.

If I shove it in their face maybe they'll fuck off and self-reflect for once. I go back and forth with these idiots for some time, trying to find some angle to make them care. Each time they come back with the same repetitive insults. Things about me being insecure, gay, ugly, girly, ugh.

Girly's a big one. What, because I'm defending myself? They're the ones calling people ugly like stereotypical girls. Hell, some of them are probably girls who wanted to be with Stan and are insulting me out of jealousy of my position.

Every time I disprove anything they say they find some ridiculous irrational line of thinking and then pretend they're winning. But I know they're just trying to wear me down. I know they have nothing to stand on. They probably already feel bad, but are trying to find some way to prove to themselves that nothing's wrong.

And they keep going with the ass comments. I know some people look at my ass, but this many? Why? It's not even that big. It's not like I'm sort sort of out of proportion looking freak. Not that I look at my ass that much–

"Kyyyle~!"

Ugh. Mom's home.

I take a look at the clock.  _Jesus Christ,_ it's already four in the afternoon? I wasn't arguing on YouTube for  _that_ long was I?

Fucking hell... why did I let this get to me so much?

I shut my laptop and head out of my room, dodging the wall mirror on my way out.

From the stairway I see Cartman and Mom shedding their jackets in the doorway in front of a bunch of bags.

"Dude! How many outfits did you buy?" I frown at Cartman.

"Half of these are groceries, bubbe." Mom says. "Eric was helpful enough to bring them all in for me. He's such a helpful young man."

Cartman looks up at me. "Besides, the bags only have like 2 pieces of clothing in them each. Fuckin' bag lady thinks she's hysterical."

Wow. Cartman cleaned up nice. The clothes he bought are pretty form fitting, in the most flattering sense of the word. It's just a simple red flannel and khakis but it really works. Now that he's not wearing that puffy jacket anymore, first thing I notice now is how broad his shoulders are. And the collar accentuates his strong jaw and even brings out his stubble a bit more.

Man… it's really starting to hit me how different he looks since we've grown up.

Cartman raises an eyebrow at me and I realize I've been silent for a little too long. I tense up slightly. "Uh,"

"No fat joke huh?" Cartman asks.

Mom looks surprised and pats Cartman's shoulder. "Oh Eric, Kyle knows better than to make fun of people's weight by now."

Cartman gives Mom a side-eye and then laughs under his breath.

Asshole.

I come down to help put the groceries away and sort the clothes out. I get what Cartman means with that bag lady remark now. The clothes are huge, but they're not big enough that they'd fill an entire bag with just two of them. They're just bunched up to look that way.

"So what are you making for dinner, Mom?" Ike asks out of left field after peeking in from the hallway.

"You're asking the wrong person, kid." Cartman replies, standing up from the table and grabbing a few of the groceries.

"Wow. First you go grocery shopping and now you're cooking dinner for the family?" Ike laughs. "You're gonna make a great housewife one day."

"Ike!" Mom chides.

These 'like a girl' comments are really making the rounds lately.

"Hey, I just want some fuckin' steak and I need the whole kitchen to get it the way I want it." Cartman shrugs as he prepares ingredients. "Might as well cook you guys some while I'm at it."

"Eric, language please."

Mom has to continuously tell Cartman to watch his language during cooking, but it's not really made into an issue. He keeps up conversation with me and Ike and the smell of juicy steak fills the house. Cartman serves up marinated steak with a side of green beans and baked potato. It's pretty heavy food – fitting for Cartman – but it's amazingly tender and sits incredibly well in my stomach. Cartman seems like he's in heaven when he eats. I smile warmly watching him.

I really do not regret embarrassing Cartman to get him under my roof. I couldn't stand another day of him being out there. He's so much better now. Even if it's just for a little bit, I'm sure this'll be all he needs to get him back on his stride.

My Mom decides to strike up conversation once the banter has slowed down. "It must be a rough year for you, Eric. All this right near the holidays."

Cartman shrugs. Oh right, it's the 16th already… Christmas is gonna be here in no time.

"Dude that sucks. Now that I think about it none of the christmas lights were out on your house." I point out.

"They'll probably put them up later." Cartman says.

"That's right. And you'll be there with them, Eric." Mom assures him. "I'm gonna call your Mother tonight and sort this all out with her."

Cartman's brow creases sharply for a glimpse of a second, but then he pulls a tight smile. "I appreciate it."

"You should invite us, Cartman. We never get to do Christmas." Ike comments while poking at his greenbeans.

Cartman looks over at Ike. "Well I'm sure they'd let a bright eyed little ten year old over to celebrate Christmas with them." He says ruffling my brother's hair. "It's kinda getting old for me, though."

I blink rapidly and turn to Cartman. "What are you talking about? Christmas has always been a highlight of the year for you!"

Cartman rolls his eyes. "Kahl, you can only have so many over the top Christmases before they get redundant. I'm not losing sleep over it–"

"That's bullshit." I cut him off.

"Kyle, watch your language!" Mom scolds again.

Cartman just gives me a blank look, before looking away and shaking his head.

The table gets awkwardly quiet again. Eventually Cartman makes more small talk, asking about Ike's education and starting to tease him about how bad he is at video games.

I mean I know Cartman is growing up and all that – I mean, we all are, but Christmas is different for Cartman. When Christmas comes around Cartman becomes a self imposed host to every kid in town. He throws parties at his house and plays christmas music all month long. He's recorded Christmas CDs before. He gets obsessed about the Christmas aesthetic. He even gets us gifts.

When he was a kid he would insist that his generosity and kindness in that year was just to get on Santa's good side, but he hasn't believed in Santa in a long time. There's a part of Cartman that just genuinely loves excuses for hospitality. This dinner was the case in point of that. It's a strange side of him that I've always been mesmerized by. Like the 'Christmas Spirit' just possesses him and makes him so full of joy and giving and he just can't help himself.

This would be the only year that he didn't act like that for December. That's just hitting me now.

I hear the doorbell ring. Dad's home. Mom goes to get the door and everyone sort of quietly wanders off. I get to the stairs and see Cartman is trailing behind me.

…He made a comment about my ass this morning. Does that mean he's looking right at it when I go up the stairs?

I decide to hang by the stairway entry to let him go first. He stops in front of me and gives me a confused look.

I look over to Mom and Dad who are near the doorway talking. "Hey, Welcome home Dad. Dinner's wrapped up for you."

Dad gives me some generic response while Mom goes on about how amazing Cartman is at cooking. When I turn back to look at Cartman, I notice that his eyes are glued to me. It's hard to read this expression… it almost seems like a glare, but not quite. He's almost smiling.. What is that look?

"Kyle, Cartman's sleeping in your room again tonight." My dad says.

…After the look he's giving me, is it really a good idea? "…Uh, I mean,"

"Don't start whining, Kyle. I had a very long day at work. If you want the guest room cleaned tonight you better clean it yourself." Dad grumbles.

"Your father's very tired, Kyle. I'm sure you understand." Mom says assuredly.

I mean yeah I understand, but I don't see why he has to be such a dick about it. "It's fine."

"It better be." Dad says, "This was your idea. And don't think he's a permanent guest here. He's leaving after Christmas."

"Gerald!" Mom gasps.

Cartman silently starts up the stairs while my mom scolds dad in the background. I follow him up. God, why does my Dad have to be so insufferable at the worst times?

We quietly enter my room, Cartman first, and I close the door behind us. "Sorry, dude. My dad's such an asshole."

Cartman wanders into the middle of the room, seeming to look the walls over.

Ugh. Fucking asshole Dad. He made Cartman feel like a burden. Now he's probably wondering if he deserves to be here.

"Don't worry. He's just blowing hot air. Especially if my mom has anything to say about it." I say.

Cartman takes a moment, then turns around to face me. "I'll bet."

I'm not sure how to take his tone.

He steps a few paces closer to me. Jesus. I know he's used to being this close because he doesn't know the meaning of personal space, but the fact that he's so much taller now makes it a little more unnerving.

"So," He says with a slight smile. His voice is smooth and inviting. It kind of throws me off; I don't know whether to be on guard or at ease. He continues, "Where'd you put it?"

Uh.

"It..?" I repeat.

Cartman smiles playfully. "Come on, you think I didn't notice?"

I stare at him blankly. Didn't notice… uh…

…Oh.

I make a quick glance towards the bookshelf next to the window, but then quickly look back to Cartman. He's closer now. Definitely.

"You did take it."

Fuck.

How did I forget that he'd notice his fucking handgun's missing? What am I, stupid?

Cartman lets out a soft laugh. "That's fine. I'm not judging." His shoulder's relax and his body language is loose, but the whole time, he never breaks eye contact with me. "Just tell me where it is."

Now that I think about it… his eerily calm attitude is pretty unsettling. I square my shoulders and maintain eye contact. "I think it's obvious why I'm not doing that…"

Cartman's expression sharpens ever so slightly, but he scoffs through a laugh. "Sure. But it's my gun."

Oh god. I don't like this. My memory flashes back to my conversation with Buck. About Cartman freaking out because his Mom hid his massive collection of guns.

But I know Cartman better than anyone. I know how to handle this. I take a subtle deep breath through my nose.

"You don't need it here."

"What do you think I'm gonna do with it?"

I frown. "There's only one thing a gun can do."

Both of us know that my parents are home. Despite the building tension, neither of us raise our voices.

Cartman nods sarcastically. "Said like someone who doesn't use guns."

I notice that Cartman's shoulders gradually raise and tighten. Is he gonna try to use force? Fucking hell…

"What are you gonna do with it, then?" I say, standing up straighter to match his body language. I take a microstep closer to him, subconsciously guarding the gun.

"I'm gonna defend myself." Cartman says.

"From who? My parents? My eleven year old brother?" I laugh. I try not to make it sound nervous, though it's totally because I'm kinda nervous right now. "Like I said, Cartman, you don't need it here."

Cartman's smile has disappeared at this point. "Kahl, I've been homeless for weeks and if there's one thing it taught me is everything you have can be taken away."

"Kind of like your gun." Wow. I just blurted that out.

I'm kinda playing with fire right now, aren't I?

Cartman shakes his head and smiles, but it's more threatening than inviting now. "I'm not gonna let you take my gun away."

"Cartman. You don't need it." I repeat again. "Why don't you just trust me on that?"

"Trust you?" Cartman gives a single laugh, "Because you took my gun from me while I was sleeping."

"Because you shouldn't be carrying around a  _gun_  in your pocket," I say with a biting tone.

"That gun saved your life."

"Yeah it did, and now we're both safe so it doesn't need to be used anymore."

"You think we're safe?"

What the fuck is he talking about? Is he really that paranoid? "Yes, because we both have a home now."

Cartman glares. "Not much of a home if I'm still getting robbed."

"Oh fuck off," I growl.

"Well if you won't give it back I'll just take it back myself." Cartman shoulders me out of the way to move past me.

"You really think you're gonna find it?" I ask through a sort of angry laugh. "I didn't just hide it under a fucking sock or something."

"You pointed at it with your eyes," He says as he saunters over to the bookshelf.

Fuck.

Cartman grips onto the bookshelf and lifts it, giving a little shake as some books tumble out. My eyes widen as I see the Dictionary tremble.

With a shrug he looks over the books on the floor. "So if I just dump this whole thing out, eventually…"

"Do not." I say.

He's gives me a roll of his eyes. "Or what?"

"If you take that gun back I'm not letting you stay in my house."

Cartman is silent for a moment. Then he chuckles softly. "Didn't take you long to use that against me, did it?"

For whatever reason, that kinda gets to me. "It wouldn't have to happen if you just let the gun go."

"You don't trust me at all, do you, Kahl?" He asks. "What – you think I'm gonna kill your family or some shit?"

"Ugh. No!" I say. "What are you saying? If I thought that why would I let you into my house in the first place?"

"So then why can't I have my gun?"

…

Fuck. If I'm not worried about him killing anyone in my house I can't say that he can't have it… but I mean… it's a gun. I'm just… it only makes sense, doesn't it? What the hell else is he gonna do with it? All you can do with a gun is kill. So why does he want it so badly?

…

"…If… Okay I'll.. Just…" ...Am I seriously doing this..? If I am, my savings is in the same safe. I don't exactly want him seeing that. I sigh. "I'll give you the gun myself."

Cartman gives me a blank stare. Clearly cautious. He looks back at the bookshelf he's just been holding this whole time.

"Just – okay – just put down the bookshelf and like face the opposite wall or something, okay?" I say quickly as I walk towards him. This is weird. I don't know how I feel about arming Cartman, even if he did save my life with a gun.

But Cartman complies with me. Silently, he places the bookshelf back on the ground and moves to the other side of the room, making sure I see he faces the wall.

I huddle over the books and take out the dictionary safe. I open it and sure enough, that gun's there; the black heavy piece of metal glaring at me as I hold it in my hands. I quickly close and lock up my savings and hide it away again.

"Okay. Here." I mutter, taking a few tentative steps towards Cartman. I present the gun to him as if it's a sacred offering, my palms upturned. It's a really weird exchange for me. Cartman takes the gun gently from my hands, and I straighten my back, just now realizing that I had my head lowered, like I was afraid of something.

I take a breath.

If there's one thing I hate, it's accidentally expressing fear to people. Especially Cartman. Even if it did make me a little nervous.

Cartman stares a the gun as if he's reading a book. By that I mean, for whatever reason, he looks inquisitive. "Kahl," He says, "Do you want me to trust you because you're trustworthy, or just cuz you want me to trust you?"

I look blankly at him as he meets my eyes. His expression is intense.

"What?" I ask.

Suddenly, he turns the gun on me.

What.

Holy shit, what?

I feel my heart jump so high in my chest that I feel like I might puke it out.

What is he doing?

"Cartman – Cartman –  _Cartman,_ " I stammer out, staggering backwards with my hands out. Jesus Christ it's pointing right at my head.

Cartman continues staring holes into me. With a calm, even tone, he asks, "Kahl, why am I doing this?"

My voice is strained. I don't know what tone to take. "I should be asking you that,"

Shit. If I wasn't so afraid to breathe I'd probably hyperventilate. No, don't move. I don't know what the fuck he's doing but I get the feeling the worst thing I could do right now is move. Stay perfectly still.

I watch Cartman size me up, feeling chills going through my body with each passing second. His eyelids lower slightly. "What are you scared of?"

What kind of messed up question is that? "That gun in your hand." I answer, trying to keep my sanity.

"It's an inanimate object." Cartman deadpans.

"You're pointing a gun at me." I repeat.

"Kahl–"

" _Why are you doing this?_ "

He says nothing.

Then he takes a step closer. I tense up.

"I want you to do something for me." He says softly. I purse my lips. God. What, what could he possibly want that could warrant this kind of situation? Why did he get closer to me? Should I move back? Fuck, should I let him back me up against a wall all over again? He's got a fucking gun aimed at me. And now…

Now he raises it, aiming down the sights.

Jesus fuck. I could die any second now.

"Prove to me that I can trust you."

I blink rapidly, gawking at him. …I don't… what…?

"I… I…" I hate the shakiness of my voice. I stare into Cartman's eyes, searching for what the hell he's trying to tell me. I clench my fists together. Even now, I refuse to break eye contact with him. Trust..? Haven't I already earned that..? "Cartman, I just– I just gave you your gun back."

I swallow hard. My heart is pounding. These passing seconds of complete silence could not go any slower.

Then all of a sudden, he sighs and lowers the gun. "Okay, good…"

He slumps and runs his hands through his hair.

"Good…?" I repeat. "I almost died and you're the one acting – relieved? You almost–"

"No, I didn't, Kahl." Cartman cuts me off. "I wasn't gonna shoot you."

He slips the gun back in his pocket while I simply gawk at him.

"Wha– then what the fuck was that all about?"

Cartman thoughtlessly sits on the bedside and starts going through his new clothes. "Like I said, I wanted to know if you were trustworthy."

Is he seriously just lazing around acting like he didn't just threaten my life?!

"Are you out of your mind?" I ask, "You just pointed a gun at me."

Cartman looks up at me from the shopping bag he's holding. "And you didn't even try to yell or alert your parents."

…

I run my hands through my hair and take in more, much needed breath. "Holy shit…"

"It's almost like you kinda knew I wouldn't shoot you." Cartman says with a shrug. "And if you trust me that much, then I can trust you, right?"

"No, no dude – you can't just do that to someone Cartman you – you –" God I can't even fucking speak, "What if the gun went off? You were gambling with my life!"

Cartman stands back up and my heart leaps. He walks over to me. A little too close. He looms over me and looks me in the eye with a gentle smile. "Relax. The safety was on. I double checked."

I feel cold metal against my hands and gasp.

Cartman's handing me the gun. He's practically pushing it into my hands.

"Jesus…" I breathe, clutching it. Yeah. The safety is on, but. "Cartman… you can't just do that to people. It's insane."

Cartman tilts his head and smiles at me, taking a step back. "You can point it at me if you want."

I give him an appropriately bewildered look. "Are you actually crazy?"

Cartman shrugs. "I just know that I can trust you."

I'm speechless.

What makes me even more unnerved is this warm feeling spreading all over my body. As if this is some sort of touching moment between us. I turn my face away and gingerly hand the gun back to Cartman. I hear him laugh under his breath as he takes the gun back.

As soon as that thing is out of my hands I feel like I can relax a little again.

"Wanna play Rhythm Heaven?" Cartman asks.

"Fuck you," I say angrily.

He laughs again, gently.

"Guess I'll play it myself. You can watch me if you want."

He turns the Wii on and pops in the game, inviting me to sit next to him. I remain standing, my arm crossed. Still processing what the fuck just happened.

At surface level, what Cartman did was absolutely maniacal. But I can't push this one thought out of my head.

I pick up the second controller and join him on the bed.

Even though he said it was a trust exercise for me… he kinda just…

He kinda just proved to me that I could trust him. Even with a gun to my head.


	13. Chapter 13

I don't know what time it is. Early morning I think…

Everything feels hazy. I grasp the blankets under my hand. The sheets are cold. But I feel something on my back, very heavy and full of heat.

What is that?

I flinch at the very sudden feeling of rough stubble on my neck. Lips trail across my nape, breathing warm, soft breath. I shudder.

"Cartman…"

His laugh is low in his throat. He has me on my hands and knees, his chest pressed up against my back.

I can feel his heart pounding.

I'd be lying if I said mine wasn't too. I'm panting so much. Jesus Christ.

My heart races faster as his large hands trail down my body, my chest, my stomach, my hips… then suddenly both those hands are on my ass, squeezing, hard. My back arches against my will.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

Then I feel something hard press up against me.

But…

It's cold and metal.

I forcefully turn myself around.

Before I know it, I'm staring down the barrel of a gun, lodged into my mouth.

My eyes snap open, and I let out a pained gasp.

I'm horribly disoriented, the dream placing me on my hands and knees, and now I'm suddenly on my side. I look around my sunlit room.

Shit. What time is it..?

6:10 AM. I take a moment to slow my breath.

That dream was weird. Absolutely. Absolutely fucking bizarre. But feeling my position with Cartman right now, it's clear why I had it.

After a few hours of Rhythm Heaven and YouTube last night, we went straight to bed. And judging from these past two mornings, it's just gonna be an ongoing thing for Cartman to  _fucking spoon me in his sleep._

Oh and thanks to Cartman's new satin pajamas, the thinness of that fabric leaves little to the imagination. I can feel his dick pressing against me pretty prominently right now. Not only that, his stubble is poking my neck too. That definitely helped the vividness of the dream.

My body goes hot all over, remembering it again.

What the fuck is wrong with my brain…? Yesterday Cartman pointed a gun at me, and now my stupid subconscious decides to have a wet dream about him, gun included.

Ugh. I shouldn't try to connect those dots. I can't think like that.

The  _only_ reason I had a wet dream about Cartman is because I subconsciously know that if I feel someone spooning me while I'm sleeping, it's Cartman.

That's all it is.

Fuck.

Of course he has to have stubble. It's scratching against my neck now and I can't help but squirm. That slight shift is enough to make my ass graze against Cartman's morning wood.

I hear a soft moan from Cartman and feel him throb against me.

Oh my  _god._

My face flushes red with embarrassment. I don't know fucking  _why._ Nobody is awake but me. But god damn this position I'm in. I'm screaming in my head.

" _Wake up._ " I say loudly. I want to die. " _Wake up Cartman."_

I would get out of the bed myself but as I've mentioned, this fat fuck holds on tight. I'd shake him but with him up against me like this that might just end up with even more awkwardly erotic results.

"WAAAAKE UUUP CARTMAN!"

Cartman squints painfully and I hear him whine in response. He turns onto his back and his hands  _finally_ release me so they can rub his eyes. "God, Kahl, what the hell…"

I sit up and scoot to the side of the bed. "Get over it. I literally can't get up when you're holding me down like that."

Cartman looks over at me groggily. "I don't hold you down."

"You do." I say, "You have heavy fucking arms and you hold me against you like I'm one of your stuffed animals or some shit."

"..Oh." Cartman says, "That's not down. That's sideways."

"What-? Shut up Cartman. And stop spooning me in your sleep." I quickly look for something to change the subject about. I look at the clock again. "Get out of bed. We have to get ready for school."

"You're going today?" Cartman asks, stretching.

"I feel fine." I say. "Just a little sore. I probably only need another day to recover fully."

Cartman sits up. "So what you're saying is we can fight tomorrow."

Ugh. This again?

"Dude, I almost got stabbed. How are you still on the fight club shit?" I ask.

"Dude. It's really fuckin fun."

I roll my eyes and rip the blankets off of him.

"Hey!"

I fold the blanket up and put it on the mattress. "Get up and either get breakfast or shower."

Cartman stares at me, then looks away and laughs. "I think you forgot your trumpet, sergeant Kahl."

In the midst of the previous silence I'd just noticed his raging  _tent._

I didn't mean to stare, but jesus christ. Morning wood isn't usually that… intense. Now that he takes a second look at me it's clear that he saw some sort of reaction. I rip my eyes away and smooth out the blanket distractedly.

"Hah. That's the one thing about being here, Kahl."

I feel sweat on my hands. Man. I'm really not used to these kinds of situations. "Uh, what?"

Cartman looks around the room, shrugs and then looks at back at me. "I have nowhere to jack off."

…

This motherfucker.

I purse my lips and scowl at him. "Funny."

"It's not actually." Cartman says, "I haven't jacked off since like, what, two weeks ago? My balls are killing me."

"If it's that big of a deal why didn't you jack off in the school locker room or something?" I ask, crossing my arms. I make a conscious effort to not be too loud about this. I don't want my parents hearing this nonsense.

"Dude. I don't wanna jack off in school. Only freaks do that." Cartman says.

"And you gave enough of a shit about that to just…" I don't want to say it again so I just sigh. He's just sitting here talking to me like there's not a boner sitting right between us. I mean… my wood hasn't exactly gone away either but that's neither here nor there.

"Well I wasn't gonna be the homeless man that jacks off in the school, Kahl." Cartman says this as if I'm insisting he should've jacked off in the school locker room.

I roll my eyes. "Oh whatever. You probably did it anyway and are just acting like you have blue balls for shits and giggles."

Cartman looks offended. "I'm  _not._ Look. Look how hard I am." He makes that lewd two hand gesture, practically framing his groin.

It ends up making his dick waaaay more prominent.

"Holy  _shit."_ I whirl myself to the opposite direction and shut my eyes. "Stop doing that."

The bastard has the audacity to laugh. "No but seriously, it's pretty uncomfortable."

" _Well what do you want me to do about it?_ " I say, tensing my shoulders and clutching my pajama pants.

I really fucking hate how my filthy brain can't get over the fact that it just saw another guy's dick. My body is having such a reaction.

Cartman stays silent for way too long. God. This feels so bizarre. It's just… The potential scenario is just sitting there, isn't it...? But why won't he just change the subject? Why is he all quiet?

I'm facing away from him… is he just gonna start doing it right here? With me just standing in the same room…

...Oh god, what if he's doing that?

I turn my head around, holding my breath. I half expect to see him with his dick just  _out._

But it's not. Thank god. He's just... sitting there looking at me blankly.

...His pupils are blown.

Fuck.

"Just go do it in the shower." I say, glaring at him.

He lets that sentence sit there for a moment.

I see a slight smirk tease the side of his lips.

" _Go. Go shower."_ I say again, walking to the other side of the room and opening my closet to distract myself. I hear Cartman briefly snicker, but he complies and after a few moments I hear him leave the room. God. Just, oh my god. It's the morning of day two of living with Cartman and I'm already exhausted.

And now, he's literally in the next room over, getting ready to jack off in the shower. He's probably doing it right now. Hell, if the shower was off I could probably hear it since he said he said he hadn't done it in a while. Even without the water he'd be-...

Well.

Hah. Yeah. Obviously, right?

Anyway, I have to get ready for school. I head to the kitchen and start making myself breakfast. Hopefully the school is just the same as I left it. I really can't help but think about those commenters on that video.

Those are students that go to my high school. Classmates of mine. I mean I knew they talked about me- they've been talking ever since they realized I was the best friend of Stan, the star Running Back- but I didn't think they were so… vulgar about it.

And I guess it gets to me a little more now that pretty much the whole school is gonna know I'm gay.

That video had about 4,000 views. That's small for youtube, but that's a LOT of classmates. And that's not even counting the people that showed it to their friends on the same account. So there's nothing I can do about that… Now I have to make sure no one finds out that I'm living with another guy.

Not only that, another gay guy.

God, they'd be all over that.

And rightfully so… I really didn't consider the fact that having Cartman sleep in the same room as me would create so many awkward dilemmas.

Like the whole masturbating thing.

I mean, shit, where am  _I_ gonna do it? I don't know how long Cartman's gonna be here, and I don't have the privacy of my room right now.

I can't do it in the shower. I  _know_ that. I won't be able to live with myself doing it in the exact same place Cartman does it.

Fuck. Am I gonna have to start sneaking it?

...Like... do it while he's in the shower..?

I shove my face in my hands and growl in frustration.

_That's so fucking awkward._

_Wait_ \- Jesus Christ, what am I even talking about? I just have to clean out the guest room. Oh my god, that clears all the awkwardness right up. It's pretty cluttered right now but I'm sure with my Dad's and Cartman's help we could clear it in no time.

Once I'm done with breakfast I go back into my room and start packing up my school bag. I wait for Cartman to get out of the shower instead of rushing him. For obvious reasons.

My Mom briefly tells me that Liane hasn't returned her calls. She doesn't seem to be picking up at all. Cartman doesn't seem surprised in the least, but Mom lets us know she'll try again while we're at school.

When we finish our morning routines and are out walking to the bus stop, everything seems relatively normal. I've opted out of letting the conversation go too far though, so a lot of it is silence. Knowing Cartman he'll probably just drag the conversation back to that whole awkward mess from earlier. So that's slightly awkward. But still. Better than I expected.

"Hey," Stan greets me with a soft smile. "Been a while since I was the first one to the bus stop."

I shrug. "You can blame Cartman for that."

"Oh excuse me for making you late for waiting for the bus for 15 minutes." Cartman says.

Stan's usually second to the bus stop. But since Cartman takes so fucking long in the shower I'm here a little later than I'd like. I feel like he took his time in the shower just so on the off chance I tried to rush him he could say 'What, I'm jacking off!' or some stupid shit like that. Hopefully he wouldn't though. If anyone else in my family heard that he would've been out on the streets again.

I guess he's right. There is no real appropriate place to jack off when you don't have your own room.

God why am I still on this. It's time for school. I should be in the school mindset.

"You know a lot of the guys are talking about you being gay now." Stan says.

"Great. Exactly what I didn't want." I sigh.

Stan shakes his head. "I was hoping there wouldn't be that many people interested in a video like that. It's like… you know? It's just a stupid video on the internet."

"No duh the school's gonna be interested," Cartman says, " _You're_  in it."

Stan furrows his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on. The popular, well-mannered pretty boy who's also the football team's Running Back? Making out with his best friend in the football locker room? Of course that's gonna catch the school's attention."

Stan frowns. "So they use my rep to make their rep better? That's so cheap. Losers can't even make a name for themselves."

"I doubt they could make a name for themselves anyway." I say. "They're anonymous. And to top it off it's just going to make everyone in the school paranoid that their personal lives are gonna get exposed."

"Anyone popular, you mean." Cartman adds. "That channel doesn't give a shit about nobodies."

Stan turns to Cartman and crosses his arms. "...You're not doing a good job of not looking suspicious, Cartman."

Cartman's eyes go dull. "It's not me, retard. I was homeless. I don't have a real phone. I couldn't record you even if I wanted to." He pulls out his cheap phone again.

Stan looks over the phone for a moment before raising his gaze back to Cartman. "Yeah you know, that would be a pretty good alibi."

I turn to Stan. "What, him being  _homeless?_ "

Stan shrugs.

I look back to Cartman, who's staring holes into Stan. My eyes dart back to Stan and throw my hands up. "Dude! He was out in a blizzard! We got attacked by a crackhead! How are you gonna say he went through all that just for an alibi?!"

"I'm just saying it wouldn't be the first time he's gone this far just to fuck with us." Stan says. "You may be our friend, Cartman, but I'm not gonna just sit here and pretend you're trustworthy just because Kyle feels bad for you."

...Is he serious...? Cartman hasn't done anything like that in years, and he's sticking to that argument…?

Cartman starts to laugh.

"Oh come on, Marsh. Just say it."

Stan's face goes blank. "...Say what?"

Out of the blue I feel a heavy arm wrap around me from behind. My shoulders are pulled to Cartman's chest, his arm draped over the front of my chest. He gives Stan a smug smile.

"You're just mad because I'm sleeping in the same bed as your boyfriend."

...What is he doing.

Stan falls completely silent. His confused stare very quickly transforms into a glare.

God dammit, Cartman… don't fuel this shit. He's already suspicious enough of you as it is and you're only making it worse. On  _both_ of us.

"Hey. That's not a permanent arrangement. You know that, right?" I say, shoving Cartman's arm off of me and turning to him. "You're gonna help me clean out that guest room. Tonight."

Cartman's arms drop to his sides. "Kahl that'd get in the way of essential video game time."

"Yeah well, you're getting in the way of essential bed space." I retort. "The sooner that guest room gets done the better."

"I'll help too." Stan says.

I smile at Stan. "Thanks dude."

"Don't mention it. I'm more than willing to help."

The laugh that comes out of Cartman is more of a scoff.

"Hey, you should be happy about this." Stan says, "You'll have your own room." His voice is soft but his tone somehow manages to come off as very biting.

"Whatever." Cartman looks over his shoulder and his eyes light up. "Kenny!" He shouts across the street as we can see a bright orange parka walking down the block. He's pretty far away right now because his house is so far away so we can just barely recognize the fact that he's waving. "Kenny hurry up! Hurry up Kenny! Kenny it's 7:28! The bus is coming!"

Kenny starts bolting.

"Run Kenny! Kenny hurry we're gonna leave without you!  _Kenny!"_

I check my watch. "It's 7:18, dude."

Cartman smiles at me mischievously and turns back to Kenny. " _Kenny! Hurry Kenny!_ "

I hold back my laughter. There is something really funny about someone as chill as Kenny just fucking booking it. The fact that he's far away somehow makes it more comical.

Kenny of course catches up to us in time. His presence does a great job of breaking the tension, and we all wait for the bus together chatting idly. Kenny managed to get his hands on Fallout 4 and plans on inviting Cartman over. He also mentions that Cartman didn't text him yesterday or this morning. I guess they're really used to texting.

I wonder if the reason he wasn't texting me was because he was off sending texts to Cartman about how I'm prying. That would explain the massive silence. Still… I want to try to get some more info. Talking to Kenny in person might be the way to do that.

Once we're in school our group finally splits off to their different periods. I'm about to split from Stan but he grabs my shoulder.

"Hold on. I'll walk you." Stan says quietly.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Do I… need to be walked?"

He steps closer to me so that are shoulders are pretty much touching. He says even quieter, "The team's been teasing you pretty hard lately. I don't want them to try something. Especially since you have stitches in."

I open my mouth to protest, but decide against it. I'm healing pretty decently, and my stitches aren't in a place where they could really be torn open. But on the off-chance that a bunch of jocks come at me and try to rough me up and end up opening my stitches, I'm better safe than sorry.

So, Stan walks by my side after all. He's pretty much escorting me. I glance around the hallways with unease.

"People are looking at us."

Stan nods. "Yup. They're gonna do that."

Most of the stares are neutral. I see some girls giggle, and a few guys interrupt their own conversations to stare at us. Why do they have to make it such a big deal? We're gay, not radioactive.

"Fags!"

Stan pulls me to a complete stop and looks around. "Who said that?" He barks.

The hall is silent.

"Oh, not such a big mouth now, are you?" Stan calls into the hallways.

I purse my lips. "Dude. Who cares? I have to get to class."

Stan paces towards the middle of the hallway, looking through the array of students. "If anyone has a problem with us, you can talk to me anytime." He announces.

Dear God. Stan. Why do you have to do this..? Now they definitely think we're an item. It's solidified in their mind.

"Come on Kyle." Stan takes me by the hand and we head down the hallway together toward my Calculus class. Jesus. He's so adamant about this. He's even holding my hand now. If I don't do something this is gonna become commonplace really fast.

I stop walking. "Stan."

He turns to me, eyes still full of passion. "What is it?"

People have now continued to make a little conversation, but it's clear that they're still watching us. Some are still glued on us, listening to our every word, like they're watching some sort of play.

God dammit. I can't say it to him. Not in front of all these people. It'd humiliate him.

"This is…" I sigh, "Do you really have to do all that?"

"Definitely." Stan says. "We have to let people know that we won't be put up with being taunted. Then they'll just do it forever. Like Cartman does."

"Cartman?" I repeat, "What are you talking about?"

"That stuff he said at the bus stop? It's the same shit. He's mocking us."

I wait until we reach my locker and open it so people don't hear us as well. Thankfully they have just enough interest in their own lives to stop eavesdropping as much. "I mean yeah, Cartman was kind of being a little shit earlier but what's that got to do with people being homophobic or whatever?"

Stan raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding? Cartman's the most homophobic person we know."

"Uh. That'd mean he's homophobic against us and himself."

Stan pauses.

He leans in closer to me, talking quieter. "...He's gay?"

"... _Yes_."

"You're positive."

"Yeah."

Stan frowns. "How did you find out?"

My face goes blank. Huh… Cartman's never said outright that he was gay before. I just know because he very blatantly gave me that  _stare_ this morning _._...And he kissed me before.

Shit.

"I mean, I thought it was obvious." I say.

Stan's staring at me. "I figured he told you or something."

I purse my lips. "I mean I guess he  _could_ be straight…"

He raises an eyebrow. "You were so sure just a second ago. Now you're going back on it?"

I shrug. "I mean…"

Stan's eyes narrow. "...Dude. Are you lying to me?"

"What?"

"Because right when I asked how you found out you went completely silent. Then you started doubting yourself."

"Yeah, because I was just going off of intuition but I don't actually know for sure."

For a minute or so Stan looks into my eyes, making sure I'm not lying. It's unnerving to be perfectly honest. I have a feeling Stan would try to do something if he knew how lewd Cartman had been lately…

Finally, he scratches the back of his neck and laughs. "Yeah I mean, you're smart. You wouldn't let Cartman sleep in your bed if you knew he was gay."

"I don't think that's necessarily true." I say slowly. "We didn't have a guest room and my dad wouldn't let him sleep on the couch. I wasn't gonna let him sleep on the floor."

Stan's eyes widen, then he groans and looks away. "Oh my god dude. I  _hope_ he's not gay."

"So I slept next to another gay gu-  _possibly_  other gay guy. So what?" I ask.

" _So,_ it's  _Cartman._ " The bell rings. Stan continues, "You don't know what he's doing. He could be touching you in your sleep!"

…

"I-It's time for class." I say, casting my eyes down. I close my locker and turn to start walking towards my classroom.

"We're cleaning that room  _today._ " Stan calls after me.

"Yeah." I mumble. My stomach is knotting up like crazy again.

Is that why…?

Is that why I had that dream? Because while Cartman supposedly sleeps, he's actually awake, touching my sleeping body?

God.

_God._

What if he did…?

He is gay. And he does say and do pretty provocative things.

But he's… he wouldn't do  _that._

But how would I even know? How would I ever find out?

...If it turns out we can't finish off the guest room tonight, should I try to take footage somehow just in case…?

Ugh - but he wouldn't  _do that!_

Why am I even letting this get to me? I wouldn't even have thought of that on my own. Stan's the one that put it in my brain. All because he's mad about what Cartman said.

Jesus Christ. Thinking back on that situation… with the possibility of Cartman having touched me in my sleep, and then having him brag about sleeping in my bed…

Fuck...I don't  _know._

After all he's been through…? It doesn't make sense.

...But what if Stan  _is_ right and Cartman is just pulling all this 'victim' stuff to fuck with us and get away with whatever?

I'd really like to think that Cartman has grown up and changed for the better as a person. I'd really,  _really_ like to.

...But… what if I'm wrong…? What if he's the way he was before… and just progressively getting worse behind the scenes…? Because… that'd line up with what Buck and Liane say. And now Stan… People, at any other age in my life, I'd trust  _way_ more than Cartman.

...Is trusting my gut the right thing…?

…

During Calculus I'm thankfully able to detach from my social life enough that I'm able to function. Instead of emotions and personal history, my mind shifts into formulas and cold, unfeeling numbers. It's relieving, to say the least.

That's the great thing about math. For all the shit it gets, the charm of it is that once you master the formula, everything is indisputable. No doubts or overthinking about subjectivity, human nature, instinct or the concept of the morality. Just numbers. One problem, one answer. Nothing more and nothing less.

Maybe that's why math gets such a bad wrap these days. People are so obsessed with emotions that the apathetic numbers make them feel insecure.

Haha. Look at me being a fucking poet over here.

1st period ends. I pack my stuff up and go out through the hallway and am slowly sucked back into the bullshit world of rumors and stares.

Every which way I can hear a whisper. People shooting glances at me. I try not to focus on it.

I stare straight down the hallway toward my next destination, and see Cartman and Kenny walking past. They seem very engaged in conversation. That's right… I have to find a chance to confront Kenny.

Cartman's living with me. Now, more than ever, I have to know what's going on with him.

I set my sights on those two and quicken my pace as I walk through the hall. They head in the same direction, but they don't go to the same building. When they get into the courtyard and Cartman splits off into a different direction I can cut Kenny off and ask him. He might think that's a bit aggressive at first, but aggressive just might be the tone I need to take.

Just as I'm about to exit my current building, I'm cut off by a girl. A slender girl with long black hair and a goldenrod headband.

"Kyle, thank god I caught up to you." She says, "I wanna do a quick interview on you."

" _I'm kind of busy."_ I say peeking over her shoulder. God dammit, I don't even see Kenny anymore…

"That's okay. It'll only be a few questions." Lesley says as she adjusts her clipboard. "I already interviewed Stan. I want to make sure you have the chance to speak up for yourself too."

I drop my hands to my sides. "Seriously? Just because I happen to be involved with a football player the school is gonna treat me like I'm part of some celebrity scandal?"

Lesley starts writing.

"Ugh, no, knock it off." I sigh. "I don't want to be interviewed."

"Kyle, I know how you feel." Lesley says as she pulls her clipboard back to her chest. "We have more in common than you think. I know all about that atmosphere."

I purse my lips. I'd rather not be compared to her, but I don't exactly want to seem overly aggressive by telling her this. "I don't think it's the same position at all." I say instead.

"Because you're a gay guy?" She asks.

I wince at just the sentence. "There's several aspects that make us different, Lesley." I can't help but sigh in frustration again.

God, I'm already in this mess aren't I. I might as well actually say something if people are gonna be listening to me anyway.

"Okay I wanna say this." I start, fists clenched. "One day when we're all grown up, age-wise and mentality wise, we're gonna look back on that piece of shit channel called SPHViral, and we're all gonna cringe. Because hopefully one day we'll realize that feeding off of the negativity from other people's lives takes the character you could have been building and  _diminishes_ it. It doesn't make you bigger to watch those videos. It makes you smaller. And one day when we all stop being petty and insecure, we'll see the channel user for what he really is. Not a provider of entertainment, but a cowardly mealworm far more petty than even a fault-dodging forgettable gossip girl."

My gaze intensifies on Lesley. She probably doesn't get the undertone of that last comment, but whatever. "SPHViral may think he's everything right now. But he isn't. He never was. His talent is feeding off of other people's insecurities. And that's more embarrassing than any video of anyone that he has on there."

I see Lesley scribbling furiously as her eyes burn with passion. I just realize that with how intense I got, I gave myself goosebumps.

"Wow," Lesley says, "That's some pretty passionate stuff right there. You are  _such_ a good speaker."

I look away. "Thanks."

Lesley smiles and nudges me. "And you didn't want an interview. I bet the SPHViral channel guy is gonna feel like complete garbage now."

"I doubt he will immediately, but, yeah."

"I can't stand people like that by the way," Lesley says with a shake of her head. "It's TMZ garbage. They make my future profession, people that genuinely want to report good and honest facts look like a bunch of jokes."

Before I realize it, I've already rolled my eyes. And of course Lesley notices.

Lesley tilts her head. "...What?"

...Well, fuck it. I try to be nice, but I'm not gonna be dishonest.

"...Come on, Lesley." I say with bared palms. "The opinion pieces on your boyfriends don't exactly work in your favor either."

Lesley's fake smile drops. "...I mean… I don't exactly do that anymore. ...Stan's a perfect example of that."

"Well there's not really that many bad things you can say about him." I say with a haphazard shrug.

Lesley raises an eyebrow. "Do you really believe that?"

Jesus. Why is Lesley like this? Nothing's  _wrong_ with Stan. Aside from some passive aggression, he doesn't do anything. "What, you think he's boring? Clearly that's not worth an article."

Lesley rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, Kyle. You  _know_ what I'm talking about. Besides, all Stan is is a status trophy. No one with any self-respect would stay with a 'man' like that. You'd be with him a month. Tops."

"Oh and what are you, the expert on dating?" I laugh. "Just because you complain about every guy you date doesn't mean you're good at dating. It just means you're a whiner."

Lesley puts her clipboard away in her pocketbook. She sighs and looks at her fingernails. "Okay. Let's be honest, Kyle. I've seen the way you act when Stan parades you around. You're just dating him because you're attention deprived. You've never been in a relationship, and on top of that you wanna piggyback off his status and good looks."

My fists clench.

Ugh. I knew there was a reason I didn't like this bitch.

"No. That's just you projecting." I say. "In fact it sounds like you just explained that you had ulterior motives for dating him from the start. Good to know." I side step her and open the door. She crosses her arms and glares at me. I look her in the eye. "By the way it'd take you a decade to get as close to Stan as I am. Because I actually care about him. And unlike you, I don't plan on stopping. I never did."

With that I walk out the door.

"You know I was gonna give you a free hall pass so you wouldn't be late to your next class." She calls after me. "But since you're being so catty I guess I'll just keep it and you can be late."

Catty. That's funny coming from Lesley of all people. I say nothing and keep walking. People must think I'm a huge fucking nerd if they really think I give a shit about being late to one class one time.

The schoolday goes as normal, 2nd, 3rd, 4th and into lunch.

It crosses my mind that, in what I said, I just strengthened the idea that I have feelings for Stan to Lesley. ... I'm having a hard time convincing myself that it's a bad thing, though. I may be on the fence about Stan but I feel like telling Lesley about my uncertainty would validate her in some way. Like if I didn't like Stan enough she'd just assume that I agreed with her insults about him.

And then at that point she might feel justified in damaging his reputation. I don't want that to happen to my best friend. I'm pretty sure part of the reason Lesley is laying off on Stan instead of tearing him down like the rest of her boyfriends is because he likes guys. If Stan didn't like guys and was just breaking up with her, it'd look bad on her. But since he's dating a guy - supposedly - it means her ego remains in tact and in turn she has no reason to go after Stan.

...Thinking about it like that, maybe the rumor does more good than harm.

Well, for Stan it does.

It really doesn't do anything for me except tell people I'm gay… but hey… maybe it was time to come out anyway…

As I head towards the cafeteria for lunchtime I spot Kenny sitting on a bench texting away on his phone. My heart leaps.

"Kenny!" I shout to him. He meets my eyes and gives me a slight smile.

"Hey Kyle," He says glancing at his phone. "Just talking to Jenny. She's great."

"Oh that's cool." I say. "I'm glad your phone works too. So you can, y'know, respond to texts."

Kenny gives me a forced laugh and then looks around. "Oh yeah that."

I take the hint that he's anxious because we're in public, then take him by the arm to the parking lot next to Stan's car.

"You legit tracked me down to get this outta me," Kenny shakes his head and chuckles.

"It's important." I insist, "If Cartman is gonna sleep in my house I need to know that I can trust him."

Kenny sighs. "Thing is, I'm not a witness. All the stuff that I know is what Cartman told me."

"I don't think he'd lie. He trusts you way more than he trusts me." I say.

"...He's a little paranoid," Kenny tells me, "I can think of a few things he pretty much refuses to talk about, even when it's me. Like family stuff."

My excitement dips a bit and I can't help but frown at him.

"So… what, you don't know anything?" I ask.

Kenny purses his lips. "What's the question?"

Okay, maybe there's something.

"Why did he get kicked out?"

Kenny rubs his chin for a moment. "He didn't tell me but it's probably 'cause he kept fighting with them about the baby."

I blink rapidly.

"What? They have a baby?"

"They're gonna. She's two months pregnant."

I smack my forehead. "Oh my god, of course…  _That's_ why they painted the room pink."

Kenny glances around the parking lot just to make sure nobody is listening. "Yeah…" Kenny murmurs. "I found it weird that every time we went over to his house no one wondered why we never went in his room."

"...So that's it…? He's just pissed off about there being a baby?"

Kenny shakes his head. "He didn't hate the idea at first. But he said they were gonna name it either Erica or Eric and then started going off about how they were trying to replace him."

"...Erica or Eric..?" I repeat. "What are they gonna call Cartman if it ends up being a boy?"

He's shrugs wordlessly.

I don't know about the names. That could just be speculation on Cartman's part.

"What about the gun collection? Or the fight with his Mom where he hit her?" I ask.

Kenny looks apprehensive for a second. "I didn't hear about Liane getting  _hit,_ buuut.. he said he made an offhand comment about wanting to make her miscarry."

Jesus, Cartman.

I take this in, pursing my lips. "Okay. ...Did he talk about his guns?"

Kenny nods. "When he came out of the basement one time the entire cabinet of em went missing."

"You'd think with how much he hates Buck he'd move the gun collection down there with him just in case."

Kenny meets my eyes, regarding me with a surprised expression. "...He couldn't move anything down with him except what they gave him."

My eyebrows furrow slightly. "What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "You make it sound like he could do whatever down there. Didn't he tell you they locked him in there for days sometimes?"

I go silent for a second or two, but then regain my composure. "...To be fair,  _he_ didn't tell me much. Buck's the one that told me about the basement."

I see Kenny's hand come over his mouth, a concerned scowl overtaking his expression. "So you talked to him…"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Not sure." Kenny answers. He leans in close to me, his voice lower now. "When Cartman got kicked out though, he said not to go near the house at all. Said I could get killed."

I feel my body go slightly ridged.

Kenny looks me up and down, thinking hard. "Did they do anything weird when you got there? Anything suspicious looking?"

I shake my head no.

Kenny turns his chin up and lets out a quiet but frustrated sigh. "I dunno. I'm worried about him. I hope this isn't all just caused by his paranoia."

"...Now I'm not sure either. Because he warned you to stay away from the house, but not me." I say, "In fact he didn't even tell me to be careful. He just told me to do whatever I wanted. That's… a pretty big difference."

Kenny's expression dims and he scratches the back of his ear. "Like I said. I'm not a witness. He just tells me his side of the story."

"Right. His own interpretation." I sigh.

This is tricky. Knowing what I know now I feel some pretty big doubts about Cartman growing in my mind.

"Buck said Cartman hit his mom?" Kenny asks.

"Yeah."

"What'd Cartman say he did?"

I sigh heavily. "I told you, dude. All my info's from Buck. Cartman didn't tell me anything."

"Did you ask him about hitting his Mom at all?"

"Uh- well, no." I mumble. ..Maybe that was one of the first things I should've asked about. "I kinda just assumed he wasn't gonna talk about anything."

"He doesn't have to talk." Kenny says, "If you see his reaction you'll probably know the answer."

I swallow and nod. This isn't much, but it's something. I was kind of already suspecting that room was gonna turn into a nursery the instant I saw it, but that thought was pushed to the very back of my mind once all this with Cartman happened.

But as for Cartman hitting his Mom… He talked about wanting to make her miscarry to Kenny.

They never specified how he lashed out at Liane. He could have hit her in the stomach, or shoved her down the stairs… So that information might line up.

Forcing his Mom to miscarry… The thought of that makes me sick…

I notice how tense my jaw is and forcefully relax it. This is all just based off people's words. I mean… Buck and Liane could have very well locked their son in the basement for days. It'd explain why he'd just go MIA for a few days every now and then… and if that's the case, then they could be completely lying about Cartman putting his hands on Liane.

Ugh. Listen to me trying to reason it in Cartman's favor… I really am biased, aren't I…

But…

Why wouldn't I be..?

He proved to me I can trust him…

He  _wants_ me to trust him.

Because he wants to trust me.

That can't be a lie. This can't be some ulterior motive bullshit he's doing to fuck me over. There's a reason he's stayed my friend for all these years. I don't want it to all lead up to a rabbit hole of betrayal.

Meeting Kenny's eyes, I swallow hard. "I have another question…"

Kenny waits silently for me to ask it. God… I kinda don't wanna ask it, it's such a… it's such an embarrassing question. But that whole thing about him not warning me but warning Kenny has me worried. So I might as well ask it.

"Does…" I start, but my eyes shift away.

...This question shouldn't be so hard to ask. I don't know why there's so much weight in it, but… it's there. I have to know what Kenny thinks.

I clench my hands and continue.

"...Does Cartman care about me?"

 _God_ that sounds so stupid… I mean I know why I asked it but it just  _sounds_ so lame. I absolutely hate the feeling of being this vulnerable in front of Kenny. In front of anyone.

It's been a second or two, but it feels like way longer. I look up to Kenny who still hasn't answered.

...

….Kenny looks like he's in awe. ...What.. why does he look like I just sang a beautiful song or some shit?

I feel my face go red.

"... _Uh,_ I just mean.. You know- because he's at my house so of course I need to know that and-... I know you can't  _know_ that but I just wanna know what you think you know? And, and if he's concerned about your safety and not mine then that's- that's concerning right? I'm not just saying it because I'm insecure- about that in particular- it's just, he's living with me, you know-"

"Don't worry."

"-Uh…" I catch my breath. I really wanna take off my hat right now because it's so warm but I already feel like a mess. I don't wanna look like a mess too… "What… worry about what..?"

Kenny gives me an endearing smile. "There's a certain reason he warned me about Buck and no one else. That's all."

...You fucking…

What, did he just think of that now or was he just holding that in for no reason?

"...Okay… uh…" I look down, my face beaming. "...That.. really was just… a concern I had…"

I'm such an idiot. Why did I make it sound like this. I laugh nervously.

"Don't tell Cartman I asked… okay…?"

Kenny laughs too. "Yep. I know."

What do you know?

"Because if he knows I asked something so lame he'd never let me live it down." I explain.

"Hahaha, I know."

Why am I making such a big deal out of this…?

I'm so fucking awkward…

"I just don't want you to get the wrong idea." I mumble.

Kenny smirks. "Yeah. Like that thing about ahh, being up with Cartman at 7 AM on a Saturday?"

"-That was-"

"His play fights. I know."

"...Y-yeah. Haha.. right. He tells you everything."

Of course he knows. He just said that to fuck with me a little. Pffuh. No wonder these two are friends.

...I feel like I really didn't get a straightforward answer out of Kenny… but I'd feel really awkward asking twice.

"Thanks Kenny. I feel like I know a little more now." I give him a smile.

"Same," He says.

Next, an awkward silence.

"We should get back to the guys before someone gets suspicious." I say, scratching the back of my head. Kenny silently complies, heading back towards the cafeteria.

The rest of the day seems to go as normal, aside from my internal tug of war.

I can't decide which story seems more convincing, and it's useless to just mull it over like this. All I'm doing is stressing myself out. After all, chances are they both have one-sided stories and the reality is much more grey than I'm assuming it is…

When we're on the bus home I feel stupid for rediscovering that Cartman will be coming home with me from now on. Not that anyone who doesn't know us would notice. We all get off the same bus stop anyways.

Kenny goes his way home. Apparently Cartman's gonna play Fallout with him later. Stan, Cartman and I all head towards my house.

The walk there is a little awkward. Cartman walks very close to me like he always does, just because he doesn't give a fuck about personal space, but Stan is now also claiming space near me. The result is a very loud talkative walk home with two guys hovering over me like I'm a plate of h'orderves they've got dibs on. It's kind of uncomfortable… but mostly surreal.

Thankfully they don't fight. They get close, but they don't.

"Oh, hello boys!" My mom greets us as we walk through the door to my house. "The guest room is upstairs down the hall past Ike's room."

"Thanks Mrs. Broflovski," Stan answers. "Should be all cleared out today."

"Just don't push yourself," She says. She knows that room's a hassle. Probably why it's been messy for so long. "Oh, Eric sweetie, you got a message from your Mother today."

Cartman stops in his tracks. I do too, to gauge his reaction. "...A message?" He says this, and I hear a subtle hint of something in his voice. It sounds almost ...hopeful.

"Yes. She told me to tell you that you're welcome home whenever you're ready to come back." Mom says.

The anticipation leaves his eyes and his gaze drifts off to the wall.

Mom continues, "Oh, and she told me to add a P.S. at the end here. Your favorite spaghetti is waiting for you."

I then see something change in his expression.

What was disappointment on his face just seconds ago transforms into alarm, and… confusion..? He turns abruptly and stares at the front door. I look him over closely. He's frozen, except for two things. His fist clenches, and he swallows hard.

"...Thanks." He mutters.

Those words don't match his reaction at all. I touch his arm, shooting him a questioning look when he glances over. All he does is turn away and shake his head.

His Mom hasn't really come up, but whenever he thinks about going home he seems pretty upset. And from that body language… maybe it really is guilt. Guilt for hitting his Mom. Nothing I've seen him do has really contradicted the idea that he hit her.

As we walk up the stairs, Stan looks us both over and shrugs. "Sounds like she forgives you."

"She's a bitch." Cartman says.

Uh.

Stan lets a confused laugh slip out. "Whoa, dude. She just offered to make you dinner and you're calling her a bitch?"

Cartman doesn't answer. It doesn't look like he was joking either. He's got a hard scowl on his face. But it's not just contempt. There's an anxious edge to his expression.

Stan looks over to me. "Am I the only one not getting this?"

"...I think it's complicated."

"It doesn't sound like it has to be. He can literally just go home whenever he wants to." Stan says.

"You don't know that." I say. "There's probably a lot going on that we don't know about."

Cartman picks up his pace, heading into the guest room while he leaves us behind.

Now that we're alone Stan leans in closer to me. "Dude. You have to talk to him."

"Oh okay, what do you think I've been doing?"

"You clearly respect his boundaries a little too much. No offense." Stan says. "Because to me it just looks like he's squatting at your place to avoid his problems at home. You know, because he's too proud to talk things over?"

I sigh heavily. "What do you want me to do, Stan? Drag him to his house at gunpoint? He doesn't want to go to his house and I don't know why."

"Well duh, because he doesn't want to apologize."

" _Well,_  for the record, his parents haven't tried to apologize either. They just left him freezing in the cold."

"Kyle-"

"Stop. Okay? Let's just clean out the guest room."

Stan reluctantly follows me up the stairs after that. That basic rendition Stan's giving me is like an insult to all the effort I've been putting into finding out what actually happened. Does he not see the expressions on Cartman's face? Or does he just figure Cartman's just  _such_ an amazing actor that he can fake every single one of those emotions without slipping up once?

There's no way it's as simple as Stan's making it out to be. I  _know_ that. Kenny and Buck's stories line up in some ways… now I just need to get something out of Cartman himself.

The problem is if he told  _Kenny_ so little about his situation, he's definitely not gonna let me know. We're not close enough. Not the way he is with Kenny.

I need to ask him that question about his Mom. The first chance I get.

When we make our way into the guest room the first thing I notice is that not only is Cartman here, but my Dad is too.

"Just push the entertainment center off to the side," He says, directing Cartman with a wave of his hand. "I don't want that collecting dust in the basement."

Cartman takes the big wooden shelf thing that Dad calls an 'entertainment center' and starts scooting it to the wall. There's several boxes stacked on top of it so it scrapes loudly against the floor.

Dad makes an exaggerated gesture of alarm. "Whoa, hey! Take the boxes off the shelves first einstein, you're gonna drop everything!"

I hear Cartman hold back a laugh while I close the distance between me and my Dad. I have to sidle against a few large boxes to get to him.

"You're really gonna sit here and order us around the whole time?" I ask.

"There is thousands of dollars worth of electronics in this room, Kyle. I'm not leaving a bunch of teenage boys alone with it."

Great.

I was hoping we could at least have fun while we cleaned out the room, but I guess not. My Dad, sure as he said before, directs the three of us through his towering walls of boxes. We go through several types of high end sound speakers and gadgets used for surround sound and amplification. There's even a box with an empty aquarium and it's many excessive accessories. And I can't help but get increasingly angry every time I try to pick up a flat looking box and it ends up being a fucking TV. Because that's happened  _twice_ already.

Then there's the third one, which I have now. I feel an uncomfortable twinge in my ribs and growl in frustration.

" _Dad,_ you don't need three forty-five inch TV screens in one room." I say, not nearly as loud as I want to say.

Dad sighs. "Yeah yeah. It's too heavy for you to lift. Just have Stan lift it again. Or Eric."

"I can't lift it because I have  _stitches_ in." I say in irritation.

He shrugs. "You can't lift it because you can't lift it. No shame in that."

"It's a flat screen not a grand fucking piano."

"Hey, language." My dad scolds.

"I can lift a flat screen. It's just too wide and it's gonna pull my stitches."

He scoffs. "I'm not telling you to lift it. God, you're so insecure about your strength."

"It's not about my  _strength. Any guy_ can pick up a  _flat screen._ "

" _Hey,"_ My dad narrows his eyes, "Zip it and pick up something lighter."

Why the fuck is my dad so insufferable. I silently clench my jaw and avert my eyes to the TV at my feet.

"Throwing a tantrum over having to lift a TV. Jesus Christ. I've never heard anything more insecure."

I could kick this TV's shit in. If I wanted to. And I  _do_ want to… But I know better. I turn away from the TV and pace a few steps away from it.

"You should give your son some slack, Mr. Broflovski." Stan says. "Ultimately this room's getting done because of him."

Dad laughs. "More like my game room's getting postponed because he insist on using it for an extended sleepover."

"Can you stop treating him like a burden already?" I growl, "He was on the streets for-"

"Kyle," Stan cuts me off. "Relax, okay? I get where you're coming from but your Dad doesn't."

Despite Stan doing a decent job of interrupting the tension, my Dad responds to this with a scoff. "Where's he coming from? He's just been barking demands at me."

_How the fuck have I been-_

No. No. Stan's right. Just Relax.

"I know it's tough and maybe he's not handling it the right way. But you have to understand. He's still struggling after the attack." Stan says softly. "It seems far away to you, but… your son  _was_ almost killed."

…

I feel a dip in my stomach.

Yeah. That night… that guy could've sliced my neck right open. ...I guess I've been trying to distract myself from that fact.

"He feels like he owes Eric everything." Stan says. As my Dad looks away, Stan shakes his head. "I agree with you, he doesn't. But you gotta understand he's just had a near death experience. If he feels like he needs this, then…"

I look silently on as I watch my Dad soberly nod his head. "Yeah. I.. I see what you mean."

...Wow. He actually got my Dad to show some kind of empathy. And to me, of all people. That's a really sad statement, but.. Yeah. Wow.

As he looks over to me, my Dad gives me an apologetic expression. "I'll try to be less mad about this."

"...Thanks." I say with a smile.

I don't know if that was the right thing to say but it does a well enough job. The situation itself is uncomfortable and bizarre.

We all continue our work on the room together. My Dad still directs us, but with a calmer tone. Slowly, the room becomes less and less cluttered. We shove all the boxes we can into a closet in the basement.

Now it's 7 PM.

Three solid hours of work and the room still isn't done.

Jesus Christ. Thousands of dollars just collecting dust.

My Dad says we'll work again on it tomorrow. But I don't know how much we'll get done since he's been really into his work lately.

Stan's visibly bothered by this. It'll be a little while until Cartman is actually out of my room.

Speaking of Cartman, he hasn't been talkative at all since my Mom told him about Liane's message. Now that we're heading downstairs to eat dinner, I kind of want to ask if he's okay.

"Hey Cartman… about that thing your Mom said…"

Cartman doesn't look at me. Not directly.

"Oh yeah." Stan says, "Don't you wanna go eat your favorite spaghetti?"

Cartman is very rigid right now. I almost think he's gonna just explode in anger or something. But to my surprise, he just lets out a laugh.

It's an unsettling laugh. Unsettling enough to send chills through my body.

"...Cartman?"

The doorbell rings and I catch Stan visibly jump in the corner of my eye.

I hesitate, giving Cartman another glance, but decide to answer it.

Then there's Kenny standing at the door. "Dude. Cartman." He says, holding up a copy of Fallout 4. "You promised."

Instantly I see Cartman's eyes light up. "Oh  _shit_ yeah!" He turns and grabs my wrist without a second thought. "You guys we gotta play this game. Like right now."

"Wha- dude," I stammer. The sudden change in attitude is totally throwing me off, but also, I'm taken aback that he's just grabbing my wrist like this. "W-what about dinner?"

"No time. Video games." Cartman pulls me towards the doorway, but I kind of let him.

"Hey-" Stan takes a hold of my shoulder, holding me in place. "Fallout 4 is not more important than dinner. And don't drag Kyle around, asshole. You're gonna hurt his stitches."

Cartman sighs. "Here comes the fun police to kill the hype."

"Seriously though… you don't wanna eat dinner?" I ask. It kind of worries me that he's skipping a meal… just because he was used to it out there doesn't mean he can keep skipping meals.

Cartman waves me off. "I'll eat later. You faggots coming or not?"

"Nah. This works out. I actually wanted to spend some time with Kyle." Stan answers for pretty much both of us.

I can see Cartman fight a glare as he turns away from us. "Suit yourselves. Don't wait up for me Kahl."

"Hey, wait a second, you're not gonna be out all night are you?" I call after him. Jesus, why are they in a rush? They're already to the edge of the sidewalk. "It's a school night!"

Surprisingly Cartman stops to look back at me. His irritation melts away in that moment, and he ends up giving me a warm smile.

Christ. It's actually making  _me_ feel warm.

"I'm not sleeping over at Kenny's, retard," He says back with a laugh.

I feel myself clutch the pocket of my jeans. "You have your phone right?! You better answer my texts if I send you any this time!"

Cartman yells back to me, "Don't spam me, Jew!"

As I watch them go down the block I can feel my heart pounding. Then, the further and further I see him go down that block, the more an unsettling feeling creeps into my chest, replacing warmth with nausea. It's a bit of a whiplash at first, but I know what this feeling is. I clutch at my chest and sigh.

"You okay, Kyle?" Stan asks.

"...Everytime he goes somewhere for a long time I get anxious." I murmur.

Stan looks confused. "Why?"

I stare at them in the distance. I let out another sigh and shake my head. "I'm scared he's gonna disappear again…"

Stan grips my shoulder. "Jesus, dude." He pulls me back inside and closes the door. "You really need some time away from him."

"...What are you talking about?"

Stan frowns and touches my shoulder. "Come on. Do I even have to say it? Cartman is, and always has been a huge source of stress for you."

I purse my lips. That is kinda true but… "It's different this time, Stan. Something weird is going on and it's not his fault."

"Yeah... but it's not your fault either." Stan says softly. "You just always get involved like it's your responsibility." I tense up and immediately he responds, letting go of my shoulder and baring his palms. "I'm just saying this because I'm worried about you."

I can't help but glare. "Frankly, I think you're worrying way too much about me and way too little about Cartman."

"Kyle? Listen to me, okay?" Stan says, "We're his friends. Not his caretakers."

"Friends should be willing to take each other in if they need it."

"Okay, well, friends shouldn't enable their more erratic friends to keep doing bratty things."

I cross my arms. "He's not being a brat."

"You don't know that."

"Well neither do  _you,_ Stan." I say, "And if I didn't do something he could've been frozen to death in that blizzard two days ago all because we thought he was being a 'brat.'"

Stan sighs and looks away. "Kyle, come on. This is what I'm talking about," He sighs. "Cartman's a grown man. Do you really think he would've just let himself freeze to death if you didn't show up?"

...Well, no. Of course not. I'm pretty sure he just took shelter inside of Tweek Bros.

"Honestly," Stan continues, "He probably only stayed in that area as long as he did because he  _knew_ you'd be there for him."

"That's a good thing." I say. "I wouldn't be alive if he didn't do that."

For the moment that shuts Stan up.

"...Kyle I'm not saying this to shit on Cartman. Honest."

"Well, you coulda fooled me."

He gently puts both hands on the sides of my arms, meeting my eyes. "Listen Kyle. You're a great friend. Okay? You're seriously the best friend I've ever had. But you gotta stop being so selfless. It's taking its toll on you."

"...Stan, you know it was the crackhead's fault I got stabbed right?"

"Don't play dumb dude." Stan says, "You know damn well that all of Cartman's drama is stressing the hell out of you right now."

I look down and shrug. "Most people would be stressed out."

"You go the extra mile." He says this with a shake of his head. "You really do. You get way too invested. And you never stop thinking about it. You won't let yourself."

I look down at the ground."Well, yeah I mean…"

"So just stop thinking about it for a while," Stan says. "He's in Kenny's hands now. You're free. Tonight let's just hang out at my house and... pretend this whole situation doesn't exist."

Pretend this whole situation doesn't exist…? I can feel my entire soul recoiling from the mere  _thought._ Like he said, I can't stop thinking about it. How could I…?

Ugh, but... maybe he's right. It does stress me out. Maybe I do need to give myself a break from all this.

Stan eats dinner with my family, and afterward I do make the decision to follow him out. As we do we're met with a gentle flurry of snow glittering in the night sky.

A small smile tugs at my lips. But it doesn't quite make it.

In the corner of my eye, as we walk to Stan's house, I can see the Cartman household at the other end of the block.

Or, the Reynolds household.

I close my eyes. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

Stan wraps his arm around my shoulders. "You cold?"

Even though I shake my head Stan doesn't remove his arm as we walk up to his house. But I don't say anything. He's trying to be comforting.

When we arrive he thankfully doesn't try to take me to his room. Instead we hang out on the backyard patio. There's a nip in the air, but it's beautiful out and there's a roof above us to keep snow off the flooring. Stan sits on the bench with me, pulls out a guitar and asks if I have any requests. I can't decide on a song. So Stan just plucks at the strings idly while we small talk about things.

I vent to him about Ike again, basically just talking about his ego, and we both agree that he gets it from my Dad. He also talks about how it's weird that our dads are good friends like we are, among other things about his family.

"I feel like now that Shelly's been off in college for so long I can finally relax." Stan says.

I nod. "I don't know how you lived with her for that long."

"I just avoided her like the plague." Stan shrugs. "I mean she's my sister, and I care about her, but I only give back whatever effort she put in. And that was nothing."

"You'll probably have a hard time doing that when she comes back for christmas break though, right?" I ask. "Maybe college changed her for the better."

"Nah." Stan says with a smile. "She asked my Dad for money so she could stay up there. Thank god he spoils her that much."

"Wait,Shelly's not gonna celebrate Christmas with you guys?" I ask.

"Guess not. It'll probably be the best Christmas ever." Stan sighs happily as he strums a few christmasy sounding notes on his guitar.

Not spending the holidays with your family seems so foreign to me, but I understand where Stan's coming from. I give him a smile. "You seem excited."

"Yeah. You should come over, dude. Have another Christmas with me." He says.

"That sounds fun," I say. They did a lot of decorating in the living room from what I saw. It looks like it's going to be pretty full of atmosphere. "You should invite Cartman, too."

Stan raises an eyebrow. "I think his Mom's gonna want him to celebrate Christmas at home."

I sigh. "It doesn't seem like that's gonna happen."

"Kyle, come on. You know this whole thing's gonna blow over before Christmas comes." He says. "The Cartmans have a massive boner for Christmas. It's pretty much the only time Liane even acts like a mom. She's not gonna let him be away for  _that_  long."

I can't help but shake my head. "Dude… with the way he talked about Christmas yesterday…" I trail off. Stan knows very little about the situation, so he doesn't get why Cartman was kicked out. There's no simple way to get back into that house, with what Cartman allegedly did. Especially since he's being so avoidant.

...It's so depressing. ...He won't even go near his house anymore.

"Man... back to talking about Cartman, huh?" Stan lets out a heavy sigh.

Ugh… What, I can't even mention him? "He's kind of a relevant subject. He's living in my house."

"Yeah." Stan says in a mumble, looking off into the flurries of snow. "Sorry, I just don't want you to focus on him too much right now."

"I'm  _not_ that focused on him right now."

"Kyle, I saw you sneaking texts during dinner. And you're holding your phone in your pocket."

As soon as he gestures towards my hand I pull it out of my pocket and place both hands on my lap. "Agh. It's just at the back of my mind dude."

The smile Stan gives me is clearly concerned. "You shouldn't answer anymore texts. Maybe even turn it off?"

I tense up. What, just to prove some point? What if something happens and Cartman needs me? Why would I intentionally set myself up for that opportunity? "...That would make me even more stressed."

Stan moves in closer and rubs my shoulder with his free hand. "Man… That near death experience really messed with your head."

I sigh and shake my head. I don't feel like it did. I was stressed before that. I feel like it's just coincidence that it was surrounded by an already stressful situation.

Stan starts to play a string of notes together as he allows a silence to sit between us. He always had been great at playing guitar. And he always uses music when we're just trying to unwind together.

"Sounds like 'Hey There Delilah.'" I comment.

"Haha. Simple melody I guess." Stan says. He lets a few more moments of silence sit between us while he starts to follow that melody. "Things have been a bit crazy lately."

I take a deep sigh. "You can say that again."

"You have a huge heart, Kyle." Stan says. "But you gotta take care of yourself too. The best thing you can do is stop chasing stress."

I look at him tiredly and nod.

"Like… you care about Cartman. I do too.." Stan continues with a sigh. "But that whole situation with his family… it's gonna sort itself out. Stuff like this always sorts itself out. But it's gonna seem longer now that you've thrown yourself in the middle of it."

"I thought you didn't wanna talk about Cartman." I say.

"Sorry," Stan laughs gently. "I just… I'm worried too, you know?" He strokes his hand up my shoulder, fingers brushing my neck a little. I feel a bit of warmth inside. "I just worry about  _both_ of you. You matter too in this situation, dude."

I nod. "...I appreciate it, Stan." I give him a warm smile. "I'll keep myself in mind from now on and… de-stress."

"Stuff like this helps, doesn't it?"

I stare out at the scenic night and take another slow breath. "Yeah…" My smile widens. "Thanks for this."

There is something very calming about the soft sound of the wind, the sound of Stan's acoustic guitar, and the fluttering snow. Even if it is a bit too cold out here.

"You know, you should hang out with me and the guys sometime. It's been a while since they've hung out with both of us."

I lean away slightly, giving him a wary look. "...Are you gonna introduce me as your boyfriend?"

Stan looks off in some random direction. "Uhh..."

"I hope that's a no."

Stan sighs. "Everyone already knows about us, Kyle."

I cross my arms. "They think we're together, so no they don't."

"I don't know why you keep saying that..." He says, lowering his head. "Did I do something wrong?"

I purse my lips, taking in his anxious eyes. "You're just… We're supposed to be just trying this out. We're not like.. An item. And you make us seem like one."

"Dude... it's been like a whole week and a half. Most people are out of the testing phase by 1 or 2 days."

"See, there you go again. You're rushing things."

"I'm not. I don't want to, I'm just saying, not making up your mind for more than a week is pretty long, especially since you let me kiss you and take you out for coffee."

"..."

"I'm not trying to piss you off or anything but, I mean we're already practically dating." Stan repeats.

"How long did you wait for Lesley to decide if she wanted to date you?" I ask. "Two semesters?"

Stan goes silent.

"But anything more than a week is too much now?"

He sighs. "Lesley was a mistake, dude. I don't want to fall into that trap again."

"That doesn't mean you thrust commitment onto your next potential partner."

Stan fidgets. He adjusts himself, leaning an elbow on his guitar and taking in a deep sigh. "I mean.. Yeah. You're right, I shouldn't be rushing this." He says softly. "...At the same time, I feel like you're still doing that thing you did with the girls your mom gave you. Except to me now. You're not giving me a real chance."

"...I mean.. I let you kiss me, like you said."

Stan laughs gently. "Come on, dude. We both know you didn't kiss back."

I feel myself withdraw a little, fiddling with my jacket pocket.

"I mean… Kyle..." Stan says softly. "The world's not gonna explode if you return feelings for someone."

...Return feelings… I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a problem with that. My whole life, I have. It's either I feel nothing, or they feel nothing. It's always been that way.

Stan places his guitar on the side of the bench and touches my arm. "I just want you to  _try_ this with me. Really try this time."

I take in a deep breath, staring at the ground. "I should be trying, shouldn't I…?"

"I know it's tough." Stan says. His voice is so soothing. "You think once you open yourself up like that it's all gonna be ripped away."

I meet eyes with him hesitantly, but don't say anything. I just let him talk.

"But you can trust me." Stan takes my hand. "And you deserve this. Especially with what you've been through lately. You deserve something good. All you have to do now is...  _let_ yourself have it."

He gives me a soft smile and I see him lean in. I feel my entire body still. I see his eyes trail over my lips, then lift back to mine when our faces get intimately close.

When his lips are just a millimeter away from mine, he gazes into my eyes with his deep blue ones, half lidded and warm. "Kiss me back," He whispers.

His lips then capture mine. Warmth floods onto my face. I think of all the touching, happy moments I've felt with Stan. My lips are still. All the all the fun we've had and comfort we've shared… for years we've bonded. He's still kissing me. He's being patient, waiting for me to kiss back. He's done his best to be patient with me. He's my best friend, and… he wants to return my feelings. I do care deeply for him. My lips aren't moving. They won't move.

I feel stress bubbling up within me. I shut my eyes finally. I thought looking at his face would help. He really is handsome, and he makes me happy… the feelings are there. I can feel them. I just have to pull them out.

This is the best case scenario. For both of us. We would be the closest couple, right from the start. Nothing could break our trust.

Trust…

I feel warmth flooding my chest now.

I trust him, don't I…? Despite…

I start to move my lips against his.

I trust him.

I can feel more warmth as it pulses into me. And with my closed eyes, my imagination starts to wander. Through the filter of my memories, I see that warm smile. That soft, warm smile that I rarely ever see on him… before he left me alone with Stan…

_...His..._

I pull away from Stan with a stiff gasp. And suddenly an intense feeling of dread feels my body.

_What the fuck..._

"What's wrong?" Stan asks, touching my hand.

I stare at my lap as my free hand clutches the fabric of my jacket. This knot in my stomach… it's not going away...

Cartman…

"Dude, are you okay..? You look upset."

I turn back to Stan, dodging direct eye contact but still making an effort to face him. "Sorry, I'm…" I pause, placing my hand over my upper lip. "… I don't think I can do that right now..."

Stan's head tilts slightly in an expression of concern. "You did kiss me back a  _little_. You're not getting intimidated are you?"

I don't know. I don't know how to respond. I stare into the snow drifting through the air and think hard, before turning back to Stan.

"I feel really confused right now…" I utter with a shake of my head.

Stan looks distraught now too. "What, like… you might not be gay?"

"No no no. I'm definitely gay it's just…" I trail off, staring back at my lap. I pick at the skin of my nails and huff. "It's like my brain is trying to throw me off, almost…"

I don't know what that was. Why my brain suddenly interrupted me like that… to go in the completely opposite direction of where I tried to take it…  _God dammit_ … I really wanted to just relax and give myself this, like Stan said…

Even if I'm not that confident about this whole thing, how many chances am I going to have at a relationship, really? Stan's a trustworthy, handsome and overall great guy. And we're  _both_  interested. How often does that ever happen? Especially between two gay guys. And we're in such a small town...

I just… live with Cartman now so… he's leaking into all of my thoughts… Why is he there…? Why do I feel so horrible right now, thinking of him..?

"I'm sorry," I utter, clutching at my jacket again. "I uh…"

"Hey, it's okay…" Stan wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. It'd probably feel way more comforting if I didn't feel so sick. "I'm here for you."

"I'm okay. I'm just.. I'm just weirded out, you know…?"

"Because your brain did a weird thing?" He asks.

"Yeah."

Stan pulls me in closer. "It's okay, dude. We can take it slow if you need it."

I take another deep breath in. The knot hasn't gone away. And my body is completely rigid against Stan's. This feels so uncomfortable. I turn towards Stan's shoulder and look up at him with anxious eyes. "Right, and… we're still not together."

To this Stan purses his lips and sighs softly. "Yeah, like you said…"

"...It's not meant as an insult. I just wanna be sure that this isn't… just got out of a relationship, and I've never been in one. The last thing I want to do is jump into something we'll both end up regretting."

He seems to consider this for a few passing moments before looking back at me. "I guess…" He says softly. "I thought about that too but… I'm just sure of myself, I guess."

I decide to stop talking about it and change the subject. The more I talk about this, the more terrible I feel. The knot just gets tighter and tighter. I find myself gripping onto Stan's forearms as he holds me. I'm not a cold person, and I don't want to appear that way, not even to make a point. It makes the hug a little less uncomfortable but not by much.

We hang out for a little bit longer and things start to seem normal again. Stan eventually lets me go to play more guitar, and we sing some songs together.

I'm an okay singer. I can hold a tune. Stan's voice is pretty great, though. If he worked at it he could turn that into a career. But it seems like in this group at least, singing isn't really valued that much. Kenny pursued it for a little while and became amazing when he was young, but he doesn't ever sing. I suppose that ties into his withdrawn nature. Cartman used to sing, too. All the time. But I can't remember the last time he did…

The first day of break he sang briefly. I remember that. I don't know what he was singing, but it sounded good despite how half-assed he was singing. He used to talk about broadway a lot when we were kids, but it's been a while… I doubt he'll make that into a career now. If he even wants to do anything for a real career.

It's weird. Cartman strikes me as confident, ambitious entrepreneurial type of guy, but I have no idea if he wants to actually pursue something. I know that I'm gonna be a doctor, and Stan's said he's figuring it out but something to do with physical training. Cartman, and for that matter, Kenny.. I don't know.

Anyway I head back to my house at ten. It's not a big deal since my house is only a few steps away. I finally pull out my phone for the first time in a long while and read over some of the texts Cartman sent me. He's just been ranting about the game. I told him not to give me spoilers but he keeps going on and on about it anyway. Fucking asshole.

He hasn't texted me in a while though, so I shoot him a text.

' _I'm coming home. Are you there yet?'_

…

' **no sec'**

Oh, he better not be pulling this shit… I'm not a fan of today at all. I want to go right the fuck to sleep. If he's not there I'm forced to wait for him.

' _You better be on your way. I'm not going to bed at 1 AM.'_

As I reach the front door and ring the doorbell I glance at my phone again. No response.

...What's he doing..? He's just playing the game, right?

No no no. Stop. Stop worrying about him like this. He's not gonna die if I leave him alone for two fucking minutes. This is exactly what Stan was talking about. This is exactly why I get so stressed out.

He's just getting caught up playing video games.

He's fine.

...But if he doesn't answer in like 5 minutes I should probably try to call him.

My mom answers the door and gives me the usual greeting, asking if I had a good time and all that. I tell her everything was great and we were just hanging out. It's a half lie, but my Mom isn't great at reading faces. I'm still feeling low energy from that whole… thing that happened.

I brush my teeth and go to my room, flopping down on the bed immediately. I look at my texts again and see no new messages. Ugh. I think about calling him for a second, but instead I text him again.

' _Hurry the fuck up fatso. When you get here we're both going right to sleep.'_

This time, he actually responds.

' **calm ur tits im coming. get my blue pajamas ready'**

' _What am I, your fucking wife?'_

' **itll take two seconds sweetheart. they shud be in the closet'**

I swallow hard.

With a grunt I jump to my feet again. Well, having the pajamas ready will mean I get to sleep sooner so who cares. I glance at the phone again and huff before dragging my tired body to the closet. I try to open it with little force, but it doesn't come open right away.

Great. He probably stuffed my closet full of his fat clothes. I pull on it harder and harder, until it finally comes open.

Suddenly a loud blaring shout fills my ears and I'm yanked into the closet. My heart rate shoots up and my whole body tenses. What-?!

Then I hear laughter.

"God, you're too fucking easy, Jew."

I can't help but seethe at this. "That's not funny, asshole! I didn't know where you were."

I try to push him away, but he holds me close against my will. "Pfft, yeah you did," Cartman chuckles, "I was at Kenny's."

"Well clearly you  _weren't,_ you were hiding in my closet like a kid." I huff. It's tough to pry him off, so for a moment I just relax myself. I can't strain anyway. These stitches are a real pain. "When did you come home anyway?"

Cartman nudges me off of him and we both step out of the closet. He's already in his pajamas. "Around thirty minutes ago. I'd stay longer but, y'know. Jenny."

I raise an eyebrow. "He brought Jenny to come play with you guys?"

"Yuuup." Cartman says this in the most irritated way. "Had to deal with that the whole night. She's even more of a jew than you are too."

"That's surprising." I say. "Not the jew thing. I thought Kenny was all about bros before hoes."

I guess that means Kenny wasn't able to find out anything new.

"You shoulda come with me. I almost turned into a third wheel. I had to keep distracting him from pussy." Cartman says.

I laugh softly. "My night wasn't that great either." ..On second thought maybe it's not such a great idea to tell him that. He might ask about details… but I didn't do anything wrong… I think…

"It wasn't bad. The game's fun as fuck."

Thank god.

"What'd you do though?"

Shit.

"Well, I just hung out with him and talked about things. But it was boring and it didn't help me get stress out." I say.

Cartman quirks an eyebrow at me.

Oh god.

"What?"

"You look guilty." He says.

Guilty… ...Is that what I'm feeling..? I look down at the ground.

"It's literally written all over your face." He continues.

"I guess… but it's weird and complicated. I don't know why I'm guilty." I answer this honestly. It's unnerving to have those icy blue eyes just piercing into me, trying to figure me out. I'm glad I have my hands in my jacket pockets. My palms are so sweaty right now.

"Huh." Cartman looks off towards my window past me. I feel tense all over again every time he speaks. "You don't know. That's weird for you."

I laugh again. "Is it..? I don't really feel like I ever know what's going on…"

Cartman steps towards me and claps a hand on my shoulder. "Haha, alright chill out. You sound like you're gonna piss yourself."

Fuck, I do. It's so pathetic. I take a deep breath in and out, staring at the floor. I hear him climb into bed.

"I've just been really stressed lately." I say.

"I noticed," Cartman says nonchalantly. "You need a good fight."

I look back at him with pursed lips. Seeing him in such a relaxed pose actually helps ease some of the stress, for some reason. I guess that's subconscious. "That's not the answer to everything, Cartman."

Cartman shrugs. "At least it's something. You know. As long as you actually do something about it."

I nod slightly and shed my jacket and my hat, climbing into bed with him. At this point I'm too tired to bother changing into my pajamas. Cartman doesn't question this. It's a really minor inconvenience to sleep in, especially what he's been through.

Like before the memory foam of the mattress ends up placing me right up against him. Oh god, he's radiating massive amounts of warmth. It feels so good after how fucking cold it was. I let out a gentle sigh as I feel my eyelids become extremely heavy.

Cartman shifts his arm, and I realize that it's under my head. His expression's amused. "Your hair's tickling me."

"Don't move. I'm so ready to sleep." I say.

I hear Cartman chuckle as he brushes some of my hair to the side, I guess to stop it from bothering him. I'm in such a heavy haze that I don't really care.

God, how was it this easy… I've been trying to de-stress all day. Did all I need was sleep?

But I can't remember the last time I've felt this relaxed. All of a sudden I feel really relieved.

I scoot closer to Cartman's warmth and let my eyes shut. And like that, despite stress usually keeping me awake, I'm out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so many emotions writing this. I hope you enjoy it~ but the next chapter is probably going to be my absolute favorite!


	14. Chapter 14

_**\- 'Did you ever find out why you were feeling that way last night?'** _

A text from Stan during the middle of breakfast. Cartman is sitting right next to me, but, that fact alone shouldn't make texting Stan feel uncomfortable. Then again.. It is about him.

_-'Yeah. It was guilt. I couldn't help but feel bad that while Cartman's trying to grapple with the idea that his parents abandoned him, I was abandoning him too by going off and experimenting.'_

This is only part of what my theory is. I do think that I feel guilty about doing that kinda stuff while Cartman's in such a shitty situation. Definitely. But on top of that, he's in the same house as me, and has a crush on me. He doesn't need the idea of me being with Stan on his plate with everything else.

Cartman puts up the facade of just being irritated that we might be together, but it's not just irritation. He did bring up the possibility of me bringing Stan over to do stuff with him so clearly it's on his mind often if he's thinking that in depth. It's not like I would ever do that to Cartman even if I was with Stan, but…

It just feels so awful to think about. I mean… I'm clearly not ready to jump into a relationship. I couldn't even kiss Stan back properly. To force myself through one just for the sake of it when I know there's a pretty high chance that Cartman has a crush on me is incredibly insensitive.

_**\- 'That's ridiculous Kyle. Just because he's miserable doesn't mean you have to be.'** _

_\- 'I'm just explaining what that feeling was.'_

_**\- 'Yeah but that feeling isn't normal at all. You really need to stop hanging around him so much. It's really not good for you.'** _

_\- 'I wish you'd stop saying that.'_

_**\- 'I wish you'd stop putting Cartman first. You really need to take care of yourself.'** _

Ugh. This is something I will never agree with Stan on. He's so afraid of putting other people before himself. He treats it like it's a crime. He treats it like people who put other people before them even momentarily will always put that person before themselves. And he treats those people like they won't be able to recognize when they start getting taken advantage of.

What, because I'm being stressed out that means I'm being taken advantage of? I chose this. And I'm only stressed out because of how invested I am in Cartman. And his situation. It's not like he's directly or intentionally stressing me out.

I mean, he could be a little more cooperative, but Cartman is right in the sense that he didn't ask for any of this.

I don't get why he doesn't want to cooperate though. I could help him.

 **_-_ ** **_'The amount of care that you put into Cartman isn't something he's ever gonna give back to you, dude. He doesn't deserve it.'_ **

…

_\- 'I disagree.'_

I don't elaborate on this. Stan asks me why I disagree, but I just say that I disagree.

I think back on when Cartman grabbed my wrist, when we were getting out of Buck's car. That look in his eyes… He gave me that same look when he was talking me down as he aimed the gun at me.

That reserved, frustrated, but pleading expression.

There's something there.

And I'm not just gonna give up on it.

Later in the day, during speech class, I finally am able to perform my piece on an interesting assignment. It's more of a debate type of thing rather than a boring essay or biography piece. We were given a list of statements that we can choose to either prove or disprove. I've chosen the statement, 'Astronomy is no longer useful to us in the modern world.'

This would be an easy statement to agree with. I can hear tons of students agreeing with this in my head. People are so obsessed with social issues that we no longer care about astronomical discoveries.

So I argue against this. In my speech I go over accomplishments of the past and how they've impacted our everyday life, like how internet wouldn't be possible without the satellites in our orbit, or how elliptical movement was used to be able to predict anomalies and prevent nationwide panic. The study of it is so efficient that we don't even notice the work that it does for us, but if we didn't study it we would definitely notice.

"And for those who say that we've studied all we need to study, the universe is full of many mysteries. Mysteries that can help us once we crack the code." I say, glancing over at Cartman. I've been doing my best to inject emotion into my speeches whenever possible. I hope I'm not coming off as too analytical. It's a pretty promising sign that his eyes are locked on mine. I smile slightly. "And the things we  _know?_ How do we know we know them? How do we know unless we test our knowledge again and again, and learn that it is foolproof? Studies, facts, habits, traditions, social norms… all subject to change. We never know the validity of our truths unless we are brave enough to try and break them."

Cartman's eyes have still not left me. If anything, his stare has become more concentrated. But it's bad speech practice to only look at one person, so I've only been looking at him from time to time. The rest of the class seems just as attentive as well except for a few.

"Alright Kyle, great job. You came on a little ominous at the end there, but a pretty strong speech overall." Ms. Wurt says. I nod and take my seat, feeling satisfied with my work.

This emotion stuff really does wonders for me. I mean, I've always enjoyed explaining proof and facts during speech, and I'm a natural speaker, but there's just something about saying things that appeal emotionally to people. Using words with certain connotation, like Cartman says. Hah. I'm surprised he even knows the word connotation.

"Who's presenting next?"

Cartman immediately raises his hand. He wasn't allowed to go first this time around because he skipped class without telling anyone on Friday when we were supposed to present. But now that I've gone Ms. Wurt allows him to do his speech.

"You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Cartman starts. I was surprised that such modern quotes were in this project but Ms. Wurt likes to give us projects we can relate to. Still, a quote from a batman movie, seems kind of weird to put in there. "That's what two-face said in the critically acclaimed 'The Dark Knight' and people have been spouting it in memes ever sense. But does it have any basis in reality?"

I never thought I'd hear the word memes in a speech. But the quote, to me, is bullshit. It's a claim with no proof. People don't just turn into pieces of shit just because they're allowed to grow old.

Cartman however, seems to disagree. But for a more abstract reason. "But what we should really be asking is, what's the difference between a hero and a villain?" He looks over the class, and I watch their eyes as they search for the answer. Jesus, is it really that hard?

"Villains have no morals." I answer for him. Cartman turns to me. I can tell he knew I was gonna say something, but he tries to hide his amusement.

"Morals?" He repeats. "But what are morals, Kahl?"

Oh fuck off with this bullshit. "Morals are the ability to discern between what's right and what's wrong."

Cartman taps his chin in fake thought. "Mmm, but aren't morals subjective? Doesn't  _everyone_  have their own set of morals?"

I purse my lips.

Cartman turns away from the class and steps back to the front to signal that he's done with his interaction. "Morality is a personal set of values every individual has. No one person can say that they have the  _correct_ morals. That'd be… immoral."

He goes on to cite Plato in his work  _The Ring of Gyges._ Plato's idea was that when given the opportunity to be an asshole without consequence, people will, without fail, be complete assholes. The claim being that morality is just a set of social values we follow for approval of others. I groan inwardly at the idea, but the rest of the class is left perplexed. They're not used to how well Cartman sells an argument.

"Heroes and Villains share one main thing in common. Power." Cartman goes on to say. "And the one and  _only_ thing that separates a hero from a villain is who wins in the end. A villain fails, therefore he's wrong. A Hero wins, therefore he's right. And his trophy? The morality society wraps around his finger. Happy and willing to be twisted into whatever that winner desires."

The class is left silent at this as Cartman sits back in his desk.

After a brief pause Ms. Wurt clears her throat. "I'm sure if this was debate class you'd get quite a bit of pushback."

Of course, nobody would want to agree with Cartman openly. Questioning the mere existence of right and wrong is pretty heavy stuff. It's not something people especially want to do in a place with such strict rules, like a school.

But their silence is kind of proving Cartman's point, in a way. Not that I agree with him.

When school is over and we're all meeting up for the bus, I happen to catch Cartman before anyone else is here to meet up with us. I hadn't had a chance to really challenge his speech during speech class, despite Ms. Wurt's subtle hint. Arguing in the middle of class would just get us both written up.

I walk straight up to Cartman. He's staring into space, but I'm sure I'll catch his attention. "So, you think morals are bullshit?"

Cartman blinks rapidly and looks at me, as if breaking out of a haze. "..What?"

"Your speech. You basically said morals aren't real."

Cartman glances off for a moment, before turning fully to me. "Morals are real, Kahl. They're just easy to twist to people's liking. That's why manipulation is such a good tactic."

"Manipulation is just  _lying._ Lying to someone about what they want doesn't make morality itself fake." I argue.

Cartman laughs. "You're really heated about this huh?"

What'd you expect?

"Implying morality is irrelevant is just a way to excuse yourself from guilt when you do terrible things." I say.

He just shakes his head. "Morality is so fucking  _vague,_ Kahl."

"How about, don't hurt anyone? Pretty simple. What's vague about that, exactly?"

"Okay. What if you accidentally hurt someone? What if you hurt someone to protect yourself? What if you hurt someone to teach them a lesson? What if you hurt someone because they hurt you first?"

I frown. "Don't do that, dude. You  _know_ those are exceptions."

Cartman rolls his eyes. "The point is it's really situational. It's really fucking situational. It's so easy to justify anything you want to justify as long as you know how to word it."

"No, it's not." I feel anger bubbling up again. "Anyone with an actual conscience and a humble amount of integrity would be able to tell the difference between a good person and a bad person."

I hear him scoff and that pisses me off even more.

"Kahl, do you think it's morally right for men to be psychologically broken down and rebuilt into killing machines for the sake of our country?"

"...No. I don't."

"But if you had the power to, you wouldn't disband the military, would you?"

...

I don't know how to answer this. I'm not stupid enough to believe we don't need a military, but…

"That's a greater good situation." I answer.

Cartman shakes his head and chuckles. "Right. Because if you didn't have the military protecting you, you'd have to get your hands dirty sooner or later. And then your precious morality would  _really_ be skewed. It's easier if everyone just blames the military who they don't have to associate with."

There's something bitter in his tone. It serves to make me even more tense.

"That doesn't contradict the idea of it being moral for the greater good," I say. My jaw is clenched.

"All 'the greater good' means is people matching up their self-interests." Cartman says. "That's all  _morality_  is _._ People keep up an image, and they follow morals that please them best."

I feel something sink in my stomach. "Is that really what you think?"

"That's what  _everyone_ thinks." Cartman says. "Just think about it, Kahl. Even when people do nice things, it's just for brownie points."

…

"Do you think I'm doing all this for you for  _fucking brownie points?"_

Cartman goes silent. I see his eyes go blank.

...I want to punch him. I want to punch him so badly. I've been trying so hard to help him and he thinks I'm doing it because I want to fucking look good?

"Uh…" I feel a hand touch my shoulder. "Sorry, we… didn't want to interrupt…"

I look over my shoulder to find Kenny and Stan, giving me looks of concern.

Fucking hell. Why'd they have to watch this…

"Hey." I deadpan.

Stan smiles nervously. "Hey… rough debate class?"

"Speech." Cartman says.

I glance at him only for a moment. I want to read his body language but I really can't stand to look at him right now.

Stan shrugs. "Uhh, the guys are coming over to my house to play pool. You wanna tag along?"

I grit my teeth behind my lips as I fight the knee-jerking habit to look at Cartman. "Sure."

Stan laughs nervously, catching onto my anger. "Sounds like you need it…"

Kenny silently passes by me and I can hear him mumbling something to Cartman. I want to turn around, but at the same time I really don't want to.

"Yeah. I'm ready. Let's go." I say.

This ends up being one of those days where Stan brings the car to school. He does this sometimes when he plans to go somewhere. Every now and then we'll end up carpooling with him as a friend group and he'll drop us all off individually. But most days it's used to hang out with his football friends. As we approach the car I see them talking nearby; three of them.

Sunny, a slender guy with more orange than red hair, who I'm surprised even got on the football team, but he's 6'6'' so I guess his height compensates for his lack of bulk. Sam, a muscular dark haired guy who's on the shorter side, and Luke, the dirty blond. He's not as tall as Sunny, but he's up there. Probably about six foot three. He's eternally getting jerked off by the entire school for being the star of the show, the team's quarterback.

As sarcastic as I sound, I am jealous of Stan for being able to play in a sport. I'd love to have a team of my own to hang out with. Nerds are all withdrawn, and since I gain no friends from that circle, I also seem like a withdrawn nerd.

"Hey it's Stan's boyfriend!" Sunny says while pointing to me.

Oh god dammit.

"Uh, don't call us that." Stan says with a sigh. I can tell he's still frustrated about the fact that I don't want us to be official. The guys seem to do little protesting and instead talk about the professional games as we all gather up into the car. Well, at least they're not interested in mocking me. That was honestly what I was most nervous about when Stan invited me to join the guys.

"Kyle, right? You know how to play pool?" Sunny asks as we head into Stan's house.

"I've played it with Stan a couple of times, but-" I cut myself off. I was about to say 'I prefer videogames,' but I feel like that'd be a misstep with these guys.

Sunny smiles at me. "S'okay. I can give you a little help if you're nervous."

Nervous? Oh god am I coming off as nervous? I shake my head immediately. "My pool skills are fine."

Stan turns on some pop playlist, to play in the background. Then he goes in the corner talking with each Luke. I end up gravitating to Sunny, who's taken to explaining and showing me trick shots at pool. I'm surprised this guy just stuck to me like glue. I don't even know him. But he has that kind of social butterfly vibe to him.

Sam on the other hand, has just been staring at me. Every time I look at him, he's either looking at me or looking off at a wall pretending not to look at me. Either way, his arms are crossed.

"You okay, dude?" I finally ask Sam.

"Just wondering how people like you end up getting into our circle." He says with a shrug.

I frown. "...People like me?" He better not be implying what I think he's implying. For fuck's sake, it's 2015. But we do live in a hick town, so…

"The losers. The really unlikable ones. You hang out with that dirt poor kid and that huge fat guy, dontcha?" Sam goes on.

Somehow, that's even worse. I give him a very annoyed look. I'm not about to fight this guy. He may be as short as I am, but he's ripped. Still, that pisses me off. "That's a really shallow way to look at people."

"Go easy on him, Sam. He's not used to how us guys talk." Sunny waves him off.

"Really?" I scoff. "I talk to Eric Cartman on a daily basis. What makes you think I'm sensitive to words?"

And I've known Cartman long enough to be able to tell when someone's just using poor wording and when they're intending to say something malicious. Like this Sam guy, for example…

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," Sunny says with a nervous smile.

I frowned. "Yeah. I know you didn't." It's like he completely missed the point of what I literally just said.

"You gotta be fucking nuts to talk to that piece of shit on a  _daily basis._ " Sam says in disgust.

"...It takes a lot of patience."

I don't know what this guy's deal is with Cartman, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was another Billy Turner case where Cartman kinda fucked up his life. That's a few kids in this town. Not usually as extreme as Billy Turner, but, he's messed with a few people. So I understand if he's taking his frustration out on me, but nevertheless, I'm not gonna take it and pretend it's not a big deal. That's not me.

"Did we come here to talk about my friends or play pool?" I ask.

"I'm actually here for the drinks." Sam says.

Sunny laughs. "Oh yeah, Stan's dad apparently has some crazy high quality alcohol." He looks over at Stan and Luke, who seem to be in the middle of a conversation. "Stanny boooyy~! Stop suckin' Luke's dick and get us that good shit!"

This isn't very amusing to Luke, apparently, but Stan laughs. He pushes himself off the wall from where him and Luke were talking. "You guys wanna get right to the action, huh?"

The guys pause at this and then all burst out into laughter.

"Ooh, you think Kyle will be ok with you sharing?" Sunny asks.

"God, you can't say things like that anymore, Marsh." Sam says.

Stan's laughing too, along with the other guys. I guess it's funny because he's gay…? Well.. it's better than what I could hope for. I don't think it's funny at all but I smile. These guys are really easy to amuse.

Sunny wraps an arm around me and leans in close. "Hey, you can share that action with Sam and Luke as long as I get Kyle, Stan~" He laughs.

"Sorry, you're not my type," I joke and nudge Sunny with my elbow.

The laughter gets noticeably weaker at this, and eventually it dies down while I watch Sunny's gaze dodge mine.

...Dammit.

"I'm gonna get the drinks," Stan announces while forcing a little bit of a laugh, before he walks out of the room.

God dammit. I must be really out of touch with these types of people. I didn't even really think any of their jokes were funny, but… still. This is the crowd I always dreamed of hanging out with. And I'm fucking it up.

"...So… drinking Randy's beer, huh?" I ask, trying to recover from that utter atrocity.

Luke and Sam start a game of pool and don't bother answering.

"I don't think it's beer." Sunny says, "Stan said it was the  _really_ hard stuff. Like whiskey and vodka. Oh, and liquor."

I recoil. "Jesus christ, seriously? You guys are only teenagers. Why are you doing that to your bodies?"

Sam laughs. "How is Stan friends with pussies like you?"

"Seriously. You only live once, man." Luke adds.

"Aw lay off, guys. He probably doesn't even know how fun  _real_ drinking is." Sunny says. "How about it, Kyle? Wanna go hard?"

"No thanks." I say immediately.

Sunny leans into me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Come onnn. Live a little."

"Again, no thanks. I've seen Stan shitfaced enough times to know better."

"It's a lot more fun living it than watching it." Luke says.

"It's not my thing." I say.

I eventually get them to stop asking me and they return to their game of pool. I don't even drink light alcohol. I know better than to break into drinking with  _whiskey._ If I ever wanna take up drinking I'll do it on my own time.

Soon enough Stan comes back in with the drinks he promised; a plentiful array of large bottles on a tray. Does Randy have to be so ostentatious about his drinking? At this point Stan's gonna pick that up.

"Have at it, guys. My stomach's been feeling weak ever since Mark elbowed me." Stan says, pouring them shots as they gather around the table.

"I'm sitting this one out too." Luke says, "It's my Dad's day off. He's gonna kill me if he smells alcohol on me."

"Pussies," Sam laughs. Sunny just cheers and starts downing shots.

I walk over and sit next to Stan as Luke and Sam are totally immersed in Sunny's chugging. Between drinks Sunny is trying to sing along with Uptown Funk on the stereo. Sam's catching up to his shot count and being overly competitive.

"I hope your parents are both gone." I say under my breath.

Stan laughs. "Even if they weren't they couldn't say much. This is exactly what Dad does on the weekends."

Sunny and Sam set up a game, arranging shot glasses to see who can drink more of them. Stan and Luke both egg them on. I focus on my current conversation with Stan.

"So now you're just doing what your dad does."

He rolls his eyes and speaks under his breath. "We're teenage guys. We drink. What's the big deal?"

"I just don't see the point-"

Both Stan and Luke abruptly start cheering as Sunny pukes all over the floor. Sam is now sufficiently drunk off his ass, laughing and pointing at Sunny as he staggers towards him to get a good view. Stan and Luke snicker and mock both of them.

Stan nudges me. "That's the best part. Seeing other people get fuckin' smashed."

I make myself smile at Stan. I can see how this could be potentially funny - in a very basic way. But this isn't my crowd. These aren't my friends.

Ugh. I need to stop being so closed off.

These guys seem cool, aside from Sam. He's kind of a dick so I don't know if we're gonna get along.

Wait, what am I saying? Cartman's the biggest dick in the entire school. I should be able to get along fine with Sam, especially since he's only being a dick to me because he associates me with Cartman.

The guys settle down and Sunny challenges me to a game of pool.

"Just remember to think about the reaction the balls are gonna have to the other balls." He tells me as I'm lining up my shot.

I raise my eyebrow at him and laugh. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Stop being dirty just cuz I said balls," Sunny slurs and giggles to himself.

I shake my head and laugh again. I'm actually laughing at the fact that he basically said what pool is, instead of giving me advice like he was trying to do. But I don't bother saying this. I don't think he'd get it anyway. Especially not in his state. Sunny's calmed down with the drinks after throwing up but he's still pretty damn drunk. I'm surprised he's even playing pool right now, but I guess he's got something to prove to the guys. Sam has decided to sit it out and spectate with Stan and Luke, and he's actually pretty chill now that he's drunk. Very talkative and friendly.

A douchey kind of friendly but still.

I guess part of the reason I've always distanced myself from these guys is because they took quality time with Stan away from me and the guys. Stan still makes time for us occasionally but his team definitely takes the spotlight. I've met them all in a group, and they're overbearing especially then, but I supposed when it's just three of them I can see why Stan's always with them. It's easy to get used to.

...Still, I hope he's not trying to get me to come into this group so he can abandon Cartman and Kenny.

...Ugh. I hate when I think about things like that. Stan is  _not_ that kind of person. He's just getting a little carried away with popularity. He still cares about us.

He just prefers to hang out with this group… because it's more convenient.

"I don't get it though. Why not just say you're boyfriends?" Sunny says.

Oh. Shit. He's talking to me.

"...Because we're not." I tell him.

"But you guys kiss and hold hands."

"We're not official, dude. We're just trying it out. No strings attached." I say.

...Saying no strings attached makes it sound very…

"Ohhh you're friends with benefits." Sunny says.

" _No!"_

Are we..?

But that implies nothing emotional and just sex.

"Waht..? So whadareyou?" Sunny looks very confused.

"N… uh… talking..? So far..."

That's what they call it, right?

Sunny turns to Stan with a frown. "Stanny boy, are you holding out on this poor boy?"

"What?" Stan laughs.

Sunny gestures over to me, leaning his chest and arms on the pool table. "Lookat'im, he's so pent up. Poor dude."

My shoulders stiffen at this. "Pent up…?"

"Pfft, no, if anything he's holding out on me." Stan answers.

They don't need to know this.

"Oh my  _god_ Stan, take some fuckin charge of your sex life for once!" Sam laughs, shoving Stan. "Just go in bro!"

"Can we change the subject?" I say, probably a little too quietly for someone yelling as loud as Sam.

"Dude every time you get drunk it's like you start telling me to rape someone." Stan laughs nervously.

"It's not rape, you're just being a pussy, pussy." Sam grunts. "This is why Lesley started fucking Luke. You waited too fucking long because she d-"

" _Whoa whoa whoa, what?"_ I cut Sam off.

My eyes go over to Luke, who has gotten noticeably paler. Stan's noticed too. He looks mortified.

"...Oh shit." Sam mutters.

"Luke…" Stan says, "...You didn't…"

Luke glares at Sam and then gives a hardened look to Stan. "He's drunk, dude. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Oh, bullshit. We all saw the blood drain from Luke's face.

The room is silent for a few moments, everyone passing glances around to everyone else in it.

Stan gets on his feet and nudges Sam. "Haha.. yeah. You're a real joker, Sam…"

Sam stares at him awkwardly, his lips parted, trying to find words, but Stan turns away from them and starts to head out of the room.

"Dude-" I rush over to Stan stepping in front of him. "Dude what are you doing?"

Stan's gives me a sullen look with glistening eyes. "I don't want to be here right now." He mumbles.

"Wha- Luke fucked Lesley and you're gonna just walk away? You're just gonna let him-" I gesture to Luke, "You're gonna let him just sit there like it's  _nothing?_ "

"Knock it off dude, I just, I need a moment okay?" Stan says this with a frown as tears start leaking out of his strained eyes.

"Fuck that, Stan!" I grip Stan's shoulders. "You can't let that piece of shit get away with this!"

" _Hey,"_ Luke barks, "What'd you just say?"

I tear my gaze off of Stan and find Luke, still lounging on that seat. "You heard me."

"Oooh…" Sunny says retreating from the pool table to go to the edge of the room.

Luke stares me down. "Like I said, I didn't do anything. Sam's drunk off his ass-"

"Don't give me that, shithead, how stupid do you think I am? You were white as a sheet when he blurted that out."

Luke stands up from his seat. "You wanna tone it down with the insults?"

"How about you just admit it already?" I can hear my voice echoing through the room. "If you're so ashamed of it then why'd you fucking do it? She was  _his_ girlfriend and you knew that!"

"Oh come on," Luke shakes his head. "Her eyes were always on me. She wasn't ever Stan's."

I glance over at Stan who's just hanging his head, holding back tears. My fists clench together and I turn back to Luke. "You knew it would hurt him, but you did it anyway."

Luke rolls his eyes. "Yeah. I didn't tell him for a reason, genius."

"Oh- Oh! You're only a piece of shit in private. Ha, that makes it okay, right? That means when no one's looking you can just hump whatever moves with your tongue hanging out like the brainless fucking jock you are!"

Luke saunters over to me with clenched fists, looming over. "I think you better remember who you're talking to, nerd."

I've already straightened my back, trying to match his height. He's got about 8 inches on me either way. My heart's pounding in my chest.

"You're no one to her." I say. "You're just another trophy to add to her collection."

That does it. I see the flicker in his eyes.

I hit a nerve.

I see his arm start to move, and before I can even think I swing my fist into his jaw. His head whips back and he staggers a few paces backwards.

The silence is palpable. Even with the upbeat music playing in the background, it's as if no one's making a sound aside from shallow, baited breaths.

I just punched a quarterback in the face.

Oh fuck.

He looks at me with wild eyes and I can suddenly feel my heart in my throat.

With a gravelly shout he swings one of those huge fists at me. My heart leaps again, I tunnel vision on the motion, and I rip myself out of the way. The wind of the punch buffets my face. My eyes fly open as I see another fist coming right for me.

_Shit, shit shit!_

He lunges at me with wide but quick swings and I pull my fists up to me, ready to block as I desperately try to swerve out of his path.

Are people yelling?

Yeah they're yelling. I don't know what the fuck they're yelling but it's probably something like 'Kyle you fucking idiot, why did you punch a quarterback?' But I can't hear them. I'm in a tunnel vision and at the end of the tunnel is the built, towering fucking quarterback that I just  _punched._

His arm whips by my face,  _nearly_ grazing my cheek. I look back at him to see his face inches away from mine. I see his eyes.

_No guilt at all._

My fist plunges into his face and as it does I feel the cartilage of his nose collapse against my knuckles.

Holy shit.

He recoils for a second, covering his nose as blood starts to flood from it. But this pause only lasts a second.

He screams and barrels towards me all over again, and I'm back on my toes.

He hasn't hit me once.

He still isn't hitting me at all.

...Holy shit. He doesn't know what he's fucking doing.

A high of excitement hits my body and I start laughing. It's weird, and I don't know why it happens. But  _holy shit,_ he doesn't know how to fight!

Then he lands a punch on my forearm, just grazing it. It hurts but I can take it. I take the opportunity to punch him in the stomach and send him recoiling from me. He might have a lot of stamina, being a football player, but if I land a good hit right now I could knock him on his ass. I lunge towards him, watching his movements and looking for a good place to swing-

Then suddenly Stan yanks me into a full nelson.

"Stan, what are you-"

"Stop you fucking idiot!" Stan says and pulls me down, forcing me on my knees while he tightens his hold.

Yeah, I can't move like this… I take the opportunity to catch my breath. Luke grips his stomach and his nose which is still bleeding pretty badly. I might've broke it. Ha.. I only got three hits on him myself, but they were damn good hits.

"I hope your play-by-plays are better than  _that_ shit," I say.

"Kyle!" Stan growls.

Sunny and Sam have gone to Luke's side, supporting him as he staggers and asking if he needs anything.

I feel Stan grip harder on me as he watches his friends. "I-I'm so sorry guys… I.. I didn't think Kyle would be…"

Luke shoots Stan a hard glare and Stan falters even further. He stands back up and straightens himself out, still holding his nose of course."No one hears about this, Marsh."

Stan nods.

The three of them talk under their breath as they leave. Stan's arms are trembling, even though I'm not struggling anymore. As soon as he knows they're gone he lets me go and starts pacing.

"You didn't think I'd be what?" I ask, standing back up. Shit, my forearm has a pretty deep bruise on it. Jocks hit damn hard.

But Stan doesn't answer me. He stops pacing, running his hands through his hair.

"...Stan?"

"What's wrong with you?" Stan's voice cracks when he speaks. "Why are you like this?"

I let this sentence sink in, taking in his distressed but angry expression. "...I was standing up for you."

"Oh yeah, good job," Stan laughs, "I can't wait to be ostracized on Monday because my best friend just attacks people like a  _lunatic,"_

"A lunatic?"

"Do you know how hard it was to get in good with them? I mean, do you  _know_ how long it took me to win them over- to- to  _impress_ them just enough to be in their circle at school?"

"...Was it longer or shorter than how long it took you to get Lesley?"

Stan turns away and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Kyle…"

"No really, I'm curious."

"Fuck off, okay? I  _just_ found out that Luke was…"

"Yeah, you did, and you know what? That right there? That's how you should've reacted to finding out.  _At least._  Not rolling over on your back like a dog and avoiding confrontation."

Stan turns to me fully now, staring at me in disbelief. I shrug with my arms outward, letting them drop down to my side soon after. This is the simplest shit.

"You're asking what's wrong with  _me?_ What's wrong with  _you,_ Stan? Do they really have you so far under their thumb that you can't even talk back to them or what?"

"How are you gonna stand here, Kyle, and tell me that my reaction of feeling pain was wrong?" Stan asks. "Just wanting to leave the room so I can sort my shit out? I was in tears, cause that  _hurt,_ and you're telling me there's something wrong with me because I didn't want to start a fight right then and there?" He shakes his head and laughs painfully. "I mean you're supposed to be my best friend and you kept me in this room- You... You were the least helpful person in this room."

Hell, that hurts.

"I was standing up for you." I say. "...I fought for you."

"That doesn't help, Kyle."

"Well then what would've helped?"

"Letting me  _leave_." Stan says through gritted teeth, then he sighs exasperatedly. "I don't know, just comforting me like a normal person, not some fucking maniac who laughs while he watches another man bleed- I mean, what are you, Cartman?"

…

"You're gonna sit here and tell me that those guys don't get into fights? Really?" I say.

"They  _don't,_ Kyle," Stan shakes his head, "And that's not even the point. You shouldn't  _enjoy_  being in fights."

I glance away, "It was more of an anxious-"

"Oh yeah? Is that why you taunted him too?" Stan shakes his head at me. "I always thought you were the more empathetic one."

I grit my teeth. "I  _am_ empathetic. The entire reason I was pissed was because of what Luke did to  _you._ How the hell are you taking his side on this when you just found out he  _fucked_ your girlfriend?"

Stan winces when I say that and looks away. "That's not the point, you-"

"That's not  _the point?_ What the fuck do you mean that's not the point?"

"Your reaction was-"

"That's what you should be most concerned about but here you're getting mad because I gave Luke what he deserved. What, did I embarrass you? Is  _that_ what you care about?  _Where the fuck are your priorities?_ "

" _SHUT UP!"_

I go silent. Stan glares holes into me, fists clenched and breathing hard. His hands clench harder and he grits his teeth a little more before he turns away. "...You should go."

"Stan that's so unwarranted," I say as he starts to walk away. "Dude, I don't care if you get a little mad but we have to-"

"Go away." He says. He's already gone up the stairs at this point, and it's not long before I hear his door slam.

I tear my hat off and crush it between my fingers. My free hand wipes the sweat from my hair and I sigh.

I definitely should've been more sensitive to his feelings.

I walk out of his place and start towards mine. I mean sure I can come off as blunt sometimes, but I'm honest. I don't get it… I don't get why he just focused on what I did instead of everything else… …Was my reaction really that bad…?

...He said… I was the least helpful.

Fuck.

I can't even comfort Stan properly. My best friend, who I'm supposed to know better than anyone…I feel like such a bad friend. ...Maybe all this time it was me. Maybe all this time… I'm the reason he doesn't hang out with our group that much. I kept blaming him, but… if that's really how he feels about the way I act… if he thinks I'm a lunatic…

As soon as I enter my house I hear a group of guys laughing. Sounds like Dad has his friends over again. Hah. Even an asshole like my Dad can maintain a group of friends better than I can. I silently start up the stairs.

"No really, it's the truest shit you've ever heard."

My head turns immediately at the sound of Cartman's voice. ...Is he talking to my dad's friend group?

"Every time, every damn time there was a sale at best buy Gerald's ass was there." He laughs, "Back when I was tryin'a get a Wii U on sale he was there every single fucking time just lookin at the sales. And half the time he doesn't even buy anything, that's the best part,"

The guys laugh annoyingly loud at this. It grates my ears. I peek over and see that they're all playing Poker. Cartman's at the center seat.

"The boy's right, Gerald. How are you gonna say you're not addicted to Best Buy?" Jimbo nudges my Dad. "You really need to get out more."

Dad doesn't say anything to this, just deals his cards. I see Cartman's eye catch mine. He was smiling before, but somehow his eyes brighten even more when he sees me.

"Heeyy, Kahl!" He calls, bringing the other guys attention to me. I shrink against the wall. "Dude, I'm winning so hard right now. I'm kicking these old men's asses."

"How are you playing poker without money?" I ask.

"Your Dad spotted me. Technically. I'm just another hand for him."

"Oh."

Seems like something my Dad would do. ...It's a little surprising that Cartman gets along with these guys, but not  _too_ surprising. His charisma is admirable. But it kind of rubs salt in my wound that he can adapt to other groups so quickly while I'm sitting here being an awkward as fuck dork and possibly ruining my best friend's other friendships.

Mom lets us know that dinner will be ready soon, so I decide to go into my room and do my homework while I wait. The mindless busywork helps me detach a bit, but not entirely… I can't get over what Stan said, but at the same time, I'm concerned about myself.

That fight was so exhilarating. Even when I just remember it, I feel giddy. It's so weird.

I really shouldn't like getting into fights. Sparring with Cartman is one thing, but that was a  _real fight._ And I started laughing at him - something just came over me. I don't know what that was.

And I kind of want to do it again.

Fuck. What's wrong with me?

Soon enough Mom calls us back down for dinner. I finish up my homework and go down there a little late. It's still really weird to see Cartman eating at my kitchen table.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, bubbe." Mom says.

I look up from my plate, which I've been idly eating while spacing out. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"You got back early from Stan's, huh?" Dad asks. "Something happen?"

I look at Cartman, who's just watching blankly. I fidget slightly and look away. "We just had an argument."

Mom sighs and shakes her head. "What a shame. Was he drinking again?"

"No. He's just been emotional about stuff. He broke up with his girlfriend and everything."

"Stan's always emotional." Cartman says with his mouthful of food.

I chew on the inside of my lip, glancing towards the stairs again. I shouldn't be zoning out in front of my family. They'll think something's wrong, and I definitely don't want them finding out about me and Stan. I haven't gotten any notifications on my phone… he's probably still upset. ...Should I text him sorry?

"Hey Kahl," Cartman says, "Come play Fallout with me n' Kenny after this. You're missing out on some quality gameplay."

I shake my head. "I don't feel that great right now. My stomach is off."

"Pssh. Fuck off with that, all you have to do to play a game is sit on your ass."

"Language, Eric!"

"Sorry Mrs. Broflovski," Cartman coos, taking another bite of her dish. He makes a show of swooning at the taste. "God, this is heaven. You oughta write down the recipe for me."

I roll my eyes as they start to make conversation about recipes and gourmet food they've seen on the food channel. I can't believe Mom didn't see through that transparent fucking schmoozing. The timing was so obvious. Hopefully she did and just wanted to talk about cooking anyway. I finish up my dinner and stand back up, letting my thoughts start to carry me out of the room.

"Kyle, go with Eric to Kenny's house." Dad says. "It's the weekend. It's high time to socialize."

I tense up and sigh. I really don't want to talk to anyone right now. I just want to sort my thoughts out. I have so much to rethink.

Cartman is suddenly next to me, clapping his hand on my shoulder. "Yeah. And it's vidyagames. That's your life, nerd."

Ugh. He looks so excited about this. I roll my eyes and grumble. "I guess."

I don't need to say anymore; Cartman bolts to the doorway and snatches his coat and mine. It kind of takes me off guard.

"Slow down, you're gonna run out of breath," I say when I follow him around the corner.

"Fallout 4, Kahl. There's no time to lose." He tosses me my coat and opens the door.

Then like that we're out in the cold. I hastily zip up my jacket. It's a good thing I forgot to take off my boots earlier or rushing would have been really frustrating. Cartman's walking at a pretty fast pace. Not that I have a problem keeping up. It's just fast for a big guy like him.

"Must be a damn good game," I say with a light laugh.

"Keep up Jew," Cartman says simply.

It's not too late out. Through the fog I see that the sun is setting, painting the sky a soft mix of lavender and orange. It'd be more relaxing if the cold wasn't stinging my face though… wish I brought a scarf. I've always been sensitive to cold. It seems no amount of living in it is gonna change that.

"Is Jenny gonna be there?" I call from behind him. I am actually lagging behind a little bit.

Cartman laughs. "Nah. What, you wanna see her?"

"No." I say. "That's why I asked."

"She's not gonna be there."

I keep trying to make small talk with him, but his answers are short and to the point. It's odd for him… it's kinda making me tense. ...I now suddenly remember we had a little bit of an argument afterschool, right before I decided to leave him to go home alone while I went with Stan.

...God. That's so spiteful in retrospect… I'm just.. A really shit person today.

Soon enough we reach Kenny's door - especially with the pace we're going. Cartman insistently knocks on the door.

It's not as if the speedwalking didn't take his toll on him either. Even beneath his winter hat, his hair is mussed. His chest is heaving noticeably. And I can see the warm puffs of breath leaving his lips.

He meets my eyes as he pants. I purse my lips. Ah.. I should say something.

"Don't wear yourself out."

To this he grins. Uh. It's like his grin is saying 'I know something you don't know.'

Kenny breaks the silence, opening the door.

"Heeeyy, Kenny!" Cartman says. Kenny smiles at us, not fully opening the door, but instead pulling his arm out.

I raise my eyebrow. "...Why are you holding a shovel, Kenny?"

Kenny glances around, then looks over at Cartman. "You didn't tell him?"

Cartman rolls his eyes. "Where am I gonna tell him?"

I tense up again. "Tell me  _what,_ exactly?"

I see Cartman's jaw tense. He takes the shovel from Kenny and nods at him, before turning and wrapping an arm around me. "We're not playing Fallout 4 tonight." He whispers, a surprisingly playful tone in his voice.

I blink rapidly at him. "...Excuse me?" Suddenly he's leading me off of Kenny's porch and towards the woods. "Whoa, whoa whoa whoa, hang on dude.  _What?_ " It takes a few instances of me grounding my feet into the snow for Cartman to actually stop. I almost slip a few times. "Cartman, what's going on?"

Cartman laughs. "You're so loud." He leans in closer to me. "Relax Kahl, I'm not gonna murder you and bury your body in the woods."

I reel backwards, though it's counterproductive since I'm against his arm. "You're not making a great case so far."

He laughs again. His arm relaxes on me. "No but, I wanna show you something."

"In the woods? With a shovel?"

Cartman strokes my hat. "Shhh~ It's gonna be okay. It's a surprise."

I glance back over to Kenny's porch. He's gone back inside at this point.  _Logically_  I should be getting a bad feeling about this. Worse of a feeling than I actually have. Well- they both worded it so casually… even though still there was this tension in the air… Kenny's not the type of person to go along with sinister plans - at least, that's what I get from him. So despite the shoddiness of the situation I do go with Cartman into the woods.

The sun continues to set over us. Cartman seems confident, holding the shovel across his shoulders as he walks ahead of me. I know these woods. It's very easy to get turned around. There's no trails except for a few patches of dirt that peeks through the grass. Even then, they're not showing right now because there's about 5 inches of snow veiled over everything.

"You sure we're not gonna get lost?" I ask.

"I know these woods like the back of my hand." Cartman says.

"What, do you just go running around in the untamed backwoods of South Park?"

Cartman glances around the trees before continuing to walk. "Yeah? Do you know how many good photos are out here just waiting to be taken?"

"I didn't know you still did that."

"I don't."

I raise an eyebrow at him, but he's in front leading the way so the point is moot. We continue down what seems to be an aimless path. Cartman slows his pace a few times, looking around and second guessing himself before he chooses a path. It seems very erratic.

I press him about getting lost again. I don't like the idea of not knowing where I am where there's no people around. If it gets dark I might just go back. But we're starting to get pretty deep…

"What was Stan pissed about?" Cartman asks. We've been making small talk for a little while, but this really wouldn't be considered that...

"...Uh… well… I was hanging out with him and some of his friends, and…" I scratch the back of my head. "I kinda… I beat up his quarterback."

Cartman whirls around, stunned. " _You?_ "

I purse my lips. "What's that supposed to mean?" I know exactly what he means, but I'm still insulted.

"Shit, dude. Tell me  _everything."_

We walk at a more steady pace as I recount the story to him. I'm a little worried that he'll get lost because he's distracted, but he seems to be checking his surroundings every now and then anyway. His eyes are locked on me with fascination as I tell him how it all started, and how the fight went.

Cartman smiles wide and sighs to himself. "Holy shit, Kahl,"

I look away. "It's not a good thing. Stan might stop hanging out with me just to get back on their good side."

"Who gives a shit about Stan? You, a scrawny little nerd, broke a quarterback's nose and got off scot free! That's like - that changes the  _game!"_

"Ugh, what game? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Those guys haven't been around that long. They're new. They took over the school because of their status." Cartman says. "But us? We grew up here. We're part of this crazy town. We're scrappy. We  _know_ how to fight because we've been doing it all our fucking lives."

"So?"

" _So,_ they go around acting like hot shit because everyone  _assumes_ they can fight. But they're just buff. Fuckin pedigrees compared to people like us. You, me, Kenny - even Stan - we can  _all_ fight." Cartman's excitement is a bit concerning. "If we ripped the throne out from under them… turned the whole pyramid upside down - hahaha - you know how much chaos that would create?"

"Cartman," I say, "Come on, dude, what would be the point of that?"

Cartman doesn't talk for a moment. He scratches his chin and turns away. "There's a point... It's just not straight forward. It's like a cutlass."

"It sounds like you'd just be creating chaos for the sake of chaos." I say with a frown.

Cartman shakes his head. "Such a downer, Jew. Be happy! You fucking downed a jock- a  _quarterback."_

"And I'll pay for it one way or the other…"

He stops and turns to me, gripping my shoulders. "Kahl, listen to me. Fuck what everyone else thinks. You did something amazing today. And you  _know_ you did. You felt it, and it felt amazing."

"What'd I do, punch a guy?

Cartman grips tighter on me, eyes completely focused. "You proved that you're a  _man._  You're a short, slender nerd but you're more of a man than that fucking quarterback. Take pride in that."

Fluttering hits my chest hard and I look down. "Hah. You're such a schmoozer."

Cartman lets me go and looks me over. "I'm serious, Kahl. Like, completely. I've never been more proud of you."

I stare at him blankly, feeling my heartbeat skyrocket. Wh…

"T-That's..." Fuck! Why did I stammer? I look away and shake my head, "That's such a weird thing to say."

What the hell was that.

Am I… am I really that in need of approval from someone?... Well.. I mean I guess it'd make sense with the whole.. I mean I've been shitting on myself for a while now so it makes sense, right?

And it's weird to hear from Cartman.

Shit.

Snap out of it. Stop being weird. Stop being weird.

I flinch at the vibration of my phone going off in my pocket. "Oh, what the hell- Oh- that's my phone," I try to say this in a steady pace but it still comes out so fucking weird. God. He's not saying anything. Did I just make this awkward?

"Heh. Rich boy gets reception even out here."

"That is weird," I agree, desperately trying to not fumble my phone in my fingers. This is a normal thing that people do, Kyle. You're unlocking a phone, not diffusing a bomb. I finally get a hold of myself and open my phone to see a text.

' _I'm sorry for yelling. Can we talk?'_

I furrow my brow. "It's Stan." Should I talk to him right now..? ...That'd be rude to Cartman, even if it would momentarily break the awkwardness I created. "He's apologizing to me."

To this Cartman just hums in acknowledgement and turns back towards the seemingly never ending woods. "We're almost there."

What he approaches is a dense thicket of trees, both intact and broken ones. I watch as he dips his fingers through the leaves, looking for a certain opening. When he finds it, he grabs onto my wrist, instructing me to cover my face as he pulls me through. It's incredibly uncomfortable and scratchy, going through this kind of thicket, but Cartman pushes through with vigor.

When we reach the other side we're met with a small clearing in the middle of the pine trees, and, surprisingly, a small log cabin.

"What… where did this come from?" I ask.

Cartman walks past me and shrugs. "No idea, but was abandoned for years." He takes his shovel in hand and kicks some snow around. "So I figured… why not take it?"

When I take a closer look, though it's a little difficult because of the dusk shadows, I see that the door has two padlocks on it. There's a noticeable crack in the door. If I had to guess Cartman kicked the door open and now keeps it closed with those two padlocks.

"Only someone like you would steal an entire goddamn  _cabin_ ," I huff.

Cartman laughs. "Yeah probably." He pokes around the ground with his shovel. It's not long before I hear a muffled clink in the ground. As I approach him he starts to dig into the dirt, stopping to toss aside a large water pipe - not connected to anything, just sitting there - before continuing to dig even deeper into the ground.

"You're so extra," I say with a sigh. "What's this, some hidden treasure?"

"Fuck yeah it is," Cartman says, dropping his shovel in the snow and pulling out a little safe from the ground. He quickly undoes the lock and smiles wide as he takes out the contents.

I step back as he stands back up, brandishing an intimidating silver pistol. He grins, polishing this thing and admiring it.

"Dude."

"No treasure like a Desert Eagle."

"Dude, you already  _have_ a gun." I say.

Cartman meets my eyes.

"This one's my favorite, Kahl." He purrs.

I'm on edge all over again.

Swiveling away from me, he points the gun at a pine tree hanging high in the air, and fires. The echo of the gunshot is nearly like a roar. The branch the bullet hits flies off of its limb, its parts being flung in multiple directions from the impact.

"God," Cartman breathes, "I missed this baby."

"I can't tell if you came here to show me the log cabin or that thing." I scoff.

Cartman walks up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're so scared of guns, Kahl. We're gonna change that tonight."

He goes back into the safe and fishes out two keys. Each of them opens a padlock on this rundown log cabin. When we step inside the cabin I take it in; it's not very warm, and it's pretty much empty.

There's some empty beer bottles lying around, a rusty dresser drawer, and four suitcases stacked up against the wall. Cartman picks up the bottles, and as he does I catch something in the corner behind him that I didn't see before…

Christmas decorations… Christmas lights, candle sticks, a boom box.. Even a little miniature tree.

"...Were you gonna spend christmas here?"

Cartman glances over at the corner, briefly looking it over, then shrugging.

I frown. "...Why would you do that all by yourself?"

"I collected those way before I knew anyone wanted to help me." Cartman says. "I knew I was bound to get kicked out sooner or later."

How casually he says that makes my chest hurt.

He takes the empty beer bottles and we head back outside with them.

"I've fired a gun before, Cartman." I remind him as I follow him back outside.

He takes one bottle and places it on a piece of firewood, burying the base in the snow. "Yeah. For half a second and all in negative contexts."

" _All_ contexts with guns are negative contexts." I say.

Cartman rolls his eyes and leads me a considerable distance away from the beer bottle. "Kahl, have you ever chopped an onion?"

I raise an eyebrow. Is he trying to say something symbolic here? "Yeah. What about it?"

Cartman pulls the silver pistol from his pocket again. "So, you used a knife. A deadly weapon."

I frown. "Kitchen knives are for cutting meat."

"We all have meat on us," Cartman says. I stare at him, but he continues. "Hit someone in the right place with a knife; it'll kill them. It's the same thing with guns. But even worse, if you drop a knife, or just aren't careful, you can end up cutting into your own skin. They're a lot more dangerous than guns."

He clicks on the safety on his pistol, and to my alarm, starts spinning the fucking thing around his finger. My heart jumps in my throat and I step towards him. "D-Dude..!"

He just grins at me while the pistol whirls around his hand. "You're not afraid of knives because you use them. You're familiar with them and know how they work." He catches the gun by the handle and it points towards me. Christ, he's trying to give me a heart attack… He quirks an eyebrow at me and grins wider. "A gun can never hurt you if you use it right."

"Don't point it at me." I say.

Cartman gives me a look, then places the barrel under his chin. "Still so scared~"

"Stop it, Cartman, that really freaks me out." I'm clenching my jaw now from the stress of seeing him just wave that thing around. "Your finger was right against the trigger when you were spinning it…"

Cartman laughs and lets his hand with the gun drop to his side. "To be fair, if  _you_ tried that, you'd probably be tense, squeeze the trigger in a panic and end up shooting yourself. I just relax cuz know how and where to spin it."

"Great. I bet you're so proud of yourself."

Cartman's eyelids lower slightly, and he reaches into his pocket, retrieving his second gun. This is the one he's been carrying with him for a while. "Shoot the bottle." He says simply, placing the black gun in my hands.

I clench my teeth together again, squeezing on the heavy cold metal I'm holding. Why does he feel the need to get me familiar with guns…? To justify him having two of them? That silver one definitely has higher power than this one… that's so excessive… he proved a gun like this is enough to kill someone when he killed that man in the alley…

I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder. "It's just a bottle, Kahl."

I respond with a distressed grunt. I don't like guns, yeah. But that's for a very good reason. A reason that everyone ought to have in common. I aim down the sights of my gun, gripping hard. Guns have kickback, I remember that much.

I take in another breath and fire the gun, the crack of the shot echoing through the forest. The bottle is knocked off its perch, but the log tumbles as well, both landing in the soft snow. The bottle stays in tact.

"Hm. I think you hit the log." Cartman says. I grumble and lower the gun. Cartman laughs softly. "Don't sweat it, Jew. That's a cop gun. It's got a twelve pound trigger - harder to fire. Especially accurately."

"So why not give me the more accurate gun? Isn't this target practice?" I say.

"If you shot with the desert eagle it'd just clock you in the nose." Cartman says. "Plus it's my baby. Only I can shoot it."

He goes back over to the log and balances it with the bottle again. I give a few more tries, shooting lower and then shooting higher, trying to hit the mark. But it's tough. I can't seem to hit it.

Cartman steps towards me. "Hang on," He says, taking both of his hands and sliding them up my arms.

What...

His large hands cup over my hands, fingers loose against the front of them. "Okay. Shoot again, like normal." He says calmly.

Y...You want me to shoot like everything's normal right now? God, this is so… ...his chest is pressed against my back and everything- does he realize how weird this is?

I try to slow my breath again. Fuck. I can feel him looking at me. He can definitely feel my pulse right now. I take in a deep breath again and fire the gun. It misses.

"Shit," I breathe.

Cartman laugh softly beneath his lips. "You're holding it wrong."

"Fuck off," I say.

His fingers wrap around my hands and he re-angles my wrists. "There, keep it just like that, and…" It seems like his voice is just getting lower.. And smoother…

"...Oh-" I gasp, realizing he's waiting for me to shoot. I press my finger into the trigger and I feel him squeeze my hands as I do. The gun fires again, and this time the bottle pops off the log, shattering into pieces.

Cartman steps back from me and I fight the urge to release my breath. I release it as quietly as I can as he puts another bottle on the log.

"Just grip it like that and you'll hit it every time," Cartman says.

"...I don't know if I can replicate that perfectly." I laugh nervously.

Cartman smirks. "What, you want me to do it for you again?"

I feel my stomach flip. " _No,_ that's not what I was saying-" I clench my jaw. "I'll do it again myself,"

What the hell… what the hell is going on with me… this is making me so…

Okay, okay, snap out of it. Just grip the gun like he did. I do my best to remember the angle he put me at… every little detail. The angle of my arms, my wrist, my fingers, the grip…

I fire again. When I look at the bottle I see it's knocked off the log again, not fully shattering, but being left chipped on the ground.

"You trying to show off?" Cartman asks.

"What?"

"Shooting with your eyes closed," He says.

Shit. I  _was_  closing my eyes. "...I was just focusing on… remembering the pose."

Cartman chuckles. "Pretty good, Jew."

We continue with the target practice, and I start to become pretty consistent with my aim. I'm finally hitting the target now, though not dead on every time.

What happened there…? When he was guiding my hand, showing me how to hold the gun… my heart just flipped out, and… I could barely breathe. I could barely relax, just because he was...

...Am I..?

…

...Oh... shit…  _Shit..._

"Alright Jew, last bottle. We're gonna try something a little different."

I take in a shaky breath. I like him. I fucking  _like_ him. I fucking  _like Eric Cartman. What the fuck..._

"I'm gonna toss this up in the air. When it peaks, I want you to try and shoot it." Cartman says.

Act normal. Just act normal. "Dude I just  _started,_ "

"So what, mister I can hit a bottle with my eyes closed? Try it."

I can feel my heart pounding in my head. God… I was trying to make so many excuses as to why I've been overreacting to him, but - jesus christ, it's so bad…

"Ready?" Cartman says.

"Yeah," I respond immediately.

He tosses the bottle into the air and I raise my gun. Just ignore it. Don't act weird. Shoot this fucking bottle.

My gun fires, but I get a bit thrown off by the kickback this time. The bottle starts falling.

"Fuck," I grunt.

Then I hear that loud crack of a gunshot from before and the bottle shatters.

"Guess that is too advanced." Cartman says, giving his silver pistol a little twirl.

I scoff. "Gimme credit where credits due, asshole. I have pretty good aim for a beginner."

Cartman walks back up to me, putting his gun away. "That's true. It's been years since you shot anything, but I can tell it's still in you."

"Yeah well," I mumble, avoiding his eyes. God help me, I hope he didn't notice. Especially not before me even realizing I fucking…  _God,_ I'm attracted to Cartman, of all people..? Jesus Christ… I shake my head and hand his gun back to him.

He doesn't take it from me, just looks at it. "What's up?"

I look back up at him for a second, then immediately look away. "I'm just giving it back."

"Ah, I already have one. And it's way better than that one." Cartman says, "You can keep it."

My eyes widen and I look up at him. What… he's giving me his…? Oh god. Why the fuck is he doing this? Why is it making me feel all warm inside? I feel heat threatening to fill my face and try breathing steadily, but quietly, turning my face away from him.

"Cartman I don't want a gun."

"You don't even have to use it that much." Cartman says. "Just when you need to."

"But I don't  _need_  to. I can take care of myself without one." I say. I try to hand the gun back to him again. "Here, take it."

"Didn't think you'd get such a big head," Cartman laughed. "You can fight sure, but you need a gun more than I do."

This smug asshole. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Immediately I square up to him. The red on my face will just be interpreted as nothing but anger, so I can get away with this…

"What, just because you beat me in fake fights?" I say, locking eyes with him. "If we were in a real fight I'd do better than you. I  _proved_ that today when I beat the shit out of that quarterback.  _You_  might need guns. But I  _don't._ "

Cartman tilts head towards me a bit, a grin stretching across his face. My heart beats faster when I notice how close our faces are, and I feel the urge to back up.

Instead I feel blunt pain hit the back of my legs and before I know it my back hits the snow.

"Augh! Hey-!"

"A real fight," Cartman laughs, looming over me. "In a real fight, Kahl, there's no countdown. Your attacker won't give you a warning."

Adrenaline hits my body. I start to feel the rush again. If he's really asking for a fight right now, then, fine. I grip my hands on the snow and scramble to get up, but my wrists suddenly hit the snow-veiled ground again. I look up and Cartman's hovering over me, pinning my wrists to the ground.

"You let someone get close, someone who's bigger and stronger than you, and  _knows_ how to fight?" Cartman says through a smile. "They won't give you a chance."

My heart pounds in my wrists, and I go silent. His grip is tight on me and he's... He's right on top of me.

I clench my hands into fists. Cartman gives a low, single laugh. "So what'll you do in this situation, Jew? You really think you could get outta this?"

I can't help but growl as I hear his taunting voice. I try to pull my wrists away with all the force in my arms. Over and over again I try, but Cartman barely budges at all. I stop for a moment to give myself a chance to breathe.

Cartman's eyelids lower, and he raises an eyebrow. "That really all you're gonna give it? Kahl, you're completely at my mercy right now," He pauses and looks me over. "I could do anything to you."

I freeze.

Did he really just… ...God, what is he thinking..? Fuck, I didn't think my face could get any hotter, but it does. It's so hot I barely feel the snow against my hands even as Cartman presses my wrists into the ground. I feel my breath quickening, but I try to use that to my advantage by using the rush I'm in to shake free from his grasp. The snow is melting between us- it should make his grip on my wrists slippery enough to pull free.

I try moving my lower body which isn't being pinned at all and trying to move downward. But as I bend my knees, my hips arch up in the small space between me and Cartman, and I press into him.

Oh, fuck-

I drop my hips like dead weight against the snow, my lips parted in horror.

Holy shit. Holy  _shit._ Why did I do that. Why didn't I fucking think ahead..? I hate the sound of my light, quick breath, the mist puffing frantically from my lips. Through it I can see Cartman's icy blue eyes looking right through me.

"You're pretty hard."

I turn my face away, cheeks burning. "It's the adrenaline,"

"Mmm, right."

Goosebumps hit my skin. God, my body is fucking betraying me right now...

Then without warning Cartman lowers his hips against me, and I feel it, hard and pressing against my thigh. I gasp shakily.

Jesus, he's hard too, he's so hard…

"Some hardcore adrenaline," He says.

_Fuck.._

I make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Those fully blown pupils. That smile, the way he bites his lower lip while he looks into my eyes. Jesus Christ… that look.. That way he looked at me on the bed, but thousands of times more intense, and this time it's not just morning wood… it's because he wants me.

_Holy shit._

His hands are suddenly off of my wrists, and he squeezes on my hips. I don't make a sound, pursing my lips, but then he lifts my hips and drags me closer. I feel myself shiver as I look up at him, his lips parted and eyes half lidded and glued to me.

Then I feel his erection pressing into mine. It's like sparks through my body. I pull my hand over my mouth and gasp into it, and, fuck, I know I'm on the verge of full on moaning. Cartman lets out a heavy exhale, one full of arousal. I never thought something as simple as a breath could sound so fucking turned on, but there's no mistaking that sound.

He drags himself against me again, drawing out the motion and this time I do moan into my hand. My hips press into it as much as possible. Without me even telling them to. I feel a large hand grip the one over my mouth and my eyes fly open.

"Let me hear it," He breathes, pulling my hand away.

I look up at him speechlessly and fuck I don't know if I can blush anymore than I'm already blushing. The look on my face must really be something, because his eyebrows furrow and he bites his lip again.

He rolls his hips in such a fluid motion that my entire body tenses and my head falls back into the snow.

"H-h-ahh…!"

The moan that comes out is nearly a whimper, and I immediately feel embarrassed that I made it. But it makes Cartman's breath quicken, makes him squeeze my hand and my hip and press into me hard. He presses his body flush against me, torso and all and captures my lips.

I feel crazy. I feel like my body is on fire. The feel of his lips against mine is insanely hot - nothing like I've ever felt in a kiss. I can't get enough of it. His kiss is so hungry and I can't help but answer it. I can't help but grab onto the expanse of his back and hold him as closely as possible. I feel his tongue slide over mine and I moan into his mouth. My fingers dig into his back and he kisses me harder, swooning with delight.

Then he rocks his hips again and I arch my back. I pull out of the kiss and gasp for much needed air, but it's tough - he's thrusting against me and it feels so fucking good - fuck, I can barely breathe.

His hands come down on mine to pin me again. I can feel how badly my fingers tremble against his.

"God, you're so horny," Cartman says, through a gravelly quality of voice that I've never heard before. It gets to me. I shiver even more.

He quickens his pace on me, his hands pressing mine into the ground as he gets just the right angle. I moan unabashedly as our erections press needfully together. That moan of his - that heady, gravelly moan that almost sounds like a growl as he squeezes my hands fills my ears. I can barely handle it…

"Aa-ahh-!" I clench my hands over Cartman's and my lips part open, eyes rolling back. I breathe through my climax, unable to stop shivering as it pulses through me.

Jesus Christ. I can't believe this.

And Cartman's still on me, too, I still feel so ridiculously turned on… I don't want to stop even though I already came…

He keeps grinding against me, slow now, but it's way too much.

"Cartman…" I gasp, "I can't,"

Cartman's still giving me that hungry look of his. "Not gonna leave me hanging, are you?"

I stare up at him, and it hits me all over again that this is actually happening. Heat floods my face. "...W-Well, just not against my dick, you know..?"

Cartman breaks into a grin and sits up, putting his hands on my legs. I can't help but stare at it. It's straining against his pants so hard…

"Turn around."

My eyes widen. "Wh-what..?"

He takes me by the hips and flips me - almost effortlessly - onto my hands and knees. I clutch the cold snow under my fingers. Wait- is he really gonna…

His heavy torso presses up against my back, and feel him, prodding at my inner thigh. I feel myself start to shiver all over.

"Cartman…" I breathe, "What are you doing..?"

Cartman lets out a chuckle, stroking his hands over my thighs. "What, you scared I'm gonna fuck you right here?"

I hate the way I instantly respond with a shivery gasp. It makes him go silent.

"Mmn… wow, Kahl…" Cartman breathes, digging his fingers into my thighs.

"That's…" I shudder. "No really, dude.. Don't…"

He laughs softly, and I feel him throbbing against me. Fuck, I really tempted him… Jesus Christ...

He moves his hips up suddenly, pressing himself right against my ass. I jump at the feeling and try to look back, but with the way he's holding me down there's no point in that. He leans forward and captures my earlobe between his teeth, tugging it.

"Can you imagine, though..?" He says in a gravelly whisper. He takes me by the hips and pulls me flush against him and I can feel his erection against the crease of my ass, through the thickness of our pants, rock hard and pulsing.

"Sh-shit…" I gasp. In a swift motion he pulls my pants down to my thighs, exposing my boxers. I tense up. "Cartman-"

He presses against me again, and his cock is suddenly way  _way_  easier to feel through the fabric. Holy fuck… his pants are down too. He draws out a moan and takes my hips again, pulling me into him, close enough that his shaft parts my ass, even though the fabric.

Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.

I bite my lip and try to steady my breath.

It feels so big… God I feel how hot and how thick it is… holy shit..

He moves his hips again, grunting as he does. He's close now, definitely… He's throbbing like crazy and he's so wet... Holy fucking shit…

His heart is pounding so hard right now. And he's moving his hips so hard… I push back into him almost by instinct. Fuck I'm so turned on all over again, and he's not even touching me…

A hitch in his breath and a movement in his hips, and he hits his climax. His cock throbs against me and I press into it further, and he rolls his hips into me, grinding the pulses out with a breathy moan. "FFFuck…"

His hands slide over my legs and he slowly settles into me, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. I can tell the haze is hitting him.

That tension of arousal is still in my body. But once he stops I have a moment to think.

And I…

I have no idea what to think.


End file.
